Don't Forget to Remember Me
by ForeverOdd
Summary: A mourning doctor, a well-meaning farmer, an amnesiac beekeeper, and a patient assassin. When John Watson accepted an invitation to Moira Holloway's farm, he had no idea that she would accidentally reunite him with someone he thought he'd lost forever.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own anything that Mark Gatiss or Steven Moffat or even the great Arthur Conan Doyle have created, but I thank them for giving me something so amazing to completely lose my mind over. Happy Reading!**

**Don't Forget to Remember Me**

People hardly expect their lives to change in an instant, even though we all know that that is generally how it happens. But one hardly expects it to change on a rare sunny Sunday in June in London while selling fruit. But mine did. Before I tell you about that I should probably introduce myself.

My name is Moira Holloway and my family has always owned Fíorghrá Farm in Pershore, Worcestershire. My family is gone now and there is only me. I am twenty-six years old and I live in my family home at the edge of our orchard on the banks of the River Avon. My parents and younger sister were killed while driving on another of those rare sunny days into London and I was left an orphan at twenty with 15 acres of farmland to maintain and a staff of workers to supervise. Growing up the child of a generation of farmers certainly would have made handling the latter tragedy easier had my parents estate not been supervised by a greedy, manipulative, callous aunt who chose to siphon off my surprisingly sizeable inheritance behind my back before disappearing leaving me nearly destitute. The first few years there was great fear that the legacy I had been left with would not last and I would be forced to start selling off land that hadn't been in a name other than my own for over a century. But I hadn't gone to college for Agricultural Business for nothing and after about three very lean years, we were once again one of the premiere farms in the county. Throughout even those lean years, I maintained the tradition of the weekly trip into London for the Farmers Markets even when there was little to sell. Now, three years later, we have a permanent stall at Marylebome Farmer's Market at the Cramer Street Car Park and business hasn't been so prosperous since my father's time, something I like to think he would be immensely proud of, but enough about me.

This particular Sunday, as I said, began a series of events that would change my life forever. And it began with the sound of a cane on pavement.

"Hello, Moira."

Distracted, I put on the company smile as I turned to the customer (it was not out of the ordinary for repeat customers to call me by name, being such a fixture in the area) but it turned into one of genuine pleasure when I saw who it was.

"Hello, Doctor Watson, out for a stroll?"

I had met Doctor John Watson about seven months prior when he'd been escorting (at the time I assumed his mother but, I later learned, his landlady) Mrs. Hudson on her weekly shopping. I had been taking a break from a very busy morning when I had spotted the lone man sitting on a bench with his cane looking dreadfully lonesome and out of sorts so, being the friendly sort, I had grabbed one of the spare sandwiches and the last of the pears before making my way over to sit beside him. I eased him into conversation about the weather before offering the sandwich (claiming that I was full and would hate for it to go to waste) and a pear, which he politely took. I asked how he'd liked the fruit and he hesitantly admitted that he couldn't remember having one better and I cheerfully told him that it had come from my farm and to please stop by next week so I could bring him some more. The following week they were back and, as promised, I presented him with a bag full which he attempted to pay for but I wouldn't hear of it, citing the discount for new friends. After that, he was a weekly visitor. I learned of his relationship with Mrs. Hudson one afternoon when he hadn't been able to stop by. She promptly hugged me, but being a hugger, I didn't mind. She thanked me profusely for looking after her boy and getting him to eat again. I told her she had a perfectly charming son and I was glad to be of service. That was when she told me that she was his landlady and that she'd practically had to beg him to come out with her when she did her shopping because he was barely leaving his flat. I didn't mean to pry but I asked what the trouble had been and she tearfully told me that he had lost someone very special, that they both had, and I didn't press the matter further. So, I kept the good doctor in fruits and vegetables and told him which of the meat purveyors to trust and often brought a dish or two that I had experimented with and thought he might like, knowing politeness would never allow him to refuse.

But back to the present, though.

Greetings exchanged I took a quick survey of my friend. I'd noticed a decline in him the last few weeks, weight loss judging by the bagginess of a sweater that had fit two months earlier, sleepless nights showed under his eyes, and his smile came more and more hesitantly. He stood off to the side as I assisted customers but being a champion multitasker I was able to keep the bulk of my attention on him while making a successful sale.

"Busy today?" he asked.

I smiled cheerfully. "Oh, yes. Summer has come early for us and the peaches have followed suit. We're the only stall here with peaches so early. I put some aside in a bag for you, along with a pie. You mentioned once that you had a fondness for it."

"I don't know if I can eat a whole pie," he said.

"Well, you could take it to your sister's. How are she and her wife getting along?"

"They're alright. Talking about adopting." A quirk of a smile.

"So you'll be Uncle John then! That's marvelous. That definitely calls for pie."

"Maybe."

"Oh. That reminds me. I have another surprise for you. I'll ask you to be gentle in your criticism as I've never made it before and this was, I think, the most successful batch." I took the opportunity of the pause in customers to scurry to the back of the stall where I dug out a jar and presented it to him.

He studied it for a moment before I got nearly a full smile that just reached his eyes. "Strawberry jam."

"This was our first year planting strawberries and I wanted you to have the first fruits of our labor."

I took the jar back and tucked it into the bag with the peaches and the pie. "Where's Mrs. Hudson? Charming some flowers out of Mr. Clarke?"

"I expect so. Or some pork out of Mr. Parker."

I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Such a flirt. She has half of the gentlemen here tripping over themselves to get her business and I can't find a single!"

He smiled at me softly. "Somehow I don't see you ever having a trouble finding a lad to make a fool of himself over you."

I grinned. "No, not since Uni. After mum and dad and Ella were gone and I came home I dove into the farm and never really came up for air. And when I did it was because some poor bloke and gone and got himself bashed in the head and almost literally dropped on my doorstep."

I should explain that. About eight months ago we had a terrible storm that left a great many of our trees down. I had waited until the worst of it had passed before going out with some of the men to inspect the damage. While walking through what remained of my plum trees I almost tripped over some poor man who must've gotten caught right in the middle of it. He had a nasty gash on his head and was soaked through. Being a bit of ways out of town and with so much damage in the area, it was several hours before a doctor would be able to come to us so I had him taken up to the house where I did the best I could for the head wound and set about trying to warm him up. When the doctor did finally arrive, the patient was still unconscious and would very likely be facing a bad case of pneumonia. For the next month he was half-delirious with fever and when that finally broke and he was speaking coherently, the poor man couldn't remember a thing. A stroke of luck had been finding the broken down car he'd been forced to abandon that had contained a wallet but all it had in it was a few pounds and no ID. It was nearly three months before he was strong enough to stand and we had no leads on who he was or where he'd been coming from. The doctor had said it would be best to let his memory try to work its way back on its own so I'd gotten him settled into the old gardener's cottage on our property where he made a steady recovery. He had offered to pay rent but as he had no job I had suggested a trade. Help out on the farm for room and board, which he'd agreed to. He was a restless sort, could often get more done in a morning then many did in a day but on occasion could be equally frustrating, disappearing for hours on end, sometimes a whole day, but always returning with an idea to help the farm which, most of the time, turned out to be a great success. The strawberries had been his idea. Since we couldn't go around addressing him with no name, one day he'd asked me to come up with one for him. Not a last name, just a first. I'd studied him hard while he sat calmly under my scrutiny. Because of the placement of his earlier head wound I had been forced to trim his formerly longer hair short, and the black that it had been had lightened several shades in the sun. He had a long face with likely the finest cheekbones ever to grace a face and eyes so light and clear that I romantically imagined must be the color of starlight. It was a striking face, sort of rugged now that he was letting some scruff in here and there, and he was taller than me, an impressive feat over a girl of nearly six feet, and terribly thin, more so when he'd gotten here but a few months on a farm will change that. I decided to call him Ben. He frowned curiously and asked why. I told him I didn't know but that I rather liked the possibilities of it. Was it short for the classic Benjamin or the more unusual Benedict? A Ben could be anything they wanted. He rather liked that so from that day forward he was Ben and my friend.

Well, now I've gotten completely off the point, haven't I? Back to Doctor Watson.

"Oh, your amnesiac friend. How is he? Any memories resurfacing?" he asked curiously.

"Not a one and I think I'm as frustrated as he is. He's taken up bees."

"Bees?"

"Well, beekeeping. He's built several bee boxes down by the little cottage and he's been studying them. He's not sure why, just that he finds them interesting and the poor man desperately needs a hobby before he irritates me so that I bury him out with the rhubarb."

"I bet they'll grow better."

"You might be right. Oh. Lord, I'm a scatterbrain today. I brought along some rhubarb for your inspector friend. Lestrade? When he stopped by with you a couple of weeks ago he mentioned he'd like some."

A shield came down over the doctor's eyes. "Right. I'll see that he gets them," came his stiff reply.

"Something wrong? You two on the outs?" I asked.

"Met for a pint last week."

I couldn't see why that would be so upsetting so I waited, knowing there would be more.

"He and his wife are giving it another go. They're taking a trip next week. A second honeymoon."

"That's lovely."

He scowled at his shoes and mumbled. "Don't see why it couldn't wait a week…"

"What's in a week?" He looked up at me, startled, as though he hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud.

"What? Nothing. Just…an anniversary. Thought he should be here."

Ah. I asked the next question as gently as possible. "The someone you lost?"

He paled a bit before nodding jerkily. "How'd you know?"

"I've lost people too, John. I know what it looks like. You're losing weight. Why do you think I keep bringing you food?"

"Trying to take care of me, are you?"

"Someone has to." I put a hand on his arm and rubbed.

He sighed. "Greg-. Lestrade. He thinks I should go away this year. Not stay in London for it. But I don't know how I can go."

I'm not really sure where the idea came from. Just that I didn't think this incredibly sweet, incredibly sad man should spend such an obviously hard time all by himself another year. "Why don't you come stay with me for a few days?"

Startled again. "Pardon?"

"Sure. The house is big, plenty of room for you, you'll be able to see the last of the Blossom Trail. Plenty of fresh air. You don't even have to stay for a week. Just come for a few days and if you want to go home I'll drive you back myself."

"Oh. Moira. I couldn't impose-"

"It's an offer, not an imposition. John, I won't ask because I know it's something you only talk about if you're ready but I know what this feels like. You shouldn't have to be alone. You can talk, you can not talk, you can eat massively, which I firmly encourage because you've lost close to two stones, you can take a walk through the orchards, walk along the river, just do whatever you like for a few days. And if you want to be back in London on the anniversary, farmer's honor, I will bring you back."

He studied me for a moment, I knew my face was earnest, my eyes painfully understanding in the way that only people who have lost someone important can grasp. He nodded slowly.

"Alright." He seemed a tad shocked. Like he couldn't believe he'd agreed.

I smiled. "Wonderful! Now how about you run home and pack and meet me back here at three. We should be all packed up by then."

"Alright." A bit more confident in his decision now. Warming up to the idea. "I'll be back at three."

"You won't regret it," I said with a smile. "I promise."

If I had known what was going to happen in the weeks that followed, I might have phrased that a bit differently.

**So, I hope you're enjoying this so far. I'm going to do my absolute best to update this as often as possible, I have a definite plan in mind, it's just a matter of carving out the time to actually write. A few notes: Pershore is a real place in Worcestershire in the UK, I stumbled across it in a book about hidden jewels of the English countryside in a section about the Vale of Evesham and the town of Pershore is just surrounded by orchards so I thought it would be a nice place to put a farm. It's also only a couple hours outside of London and I needed to put it far enough away from London that Moira wouldn't necessarily know about Sherlock but not so far that she wouldn't have a reason to come in often. Marylebome Farmers' Market is real and that car park is where it is, I tried to find the closest market to Baker Street (even though the actual filming location is N. Gower Street) and that was it. Also, I'm putting this timeline at about June of 2014. Two years after Reichenbach. According to his "blog", John's last post about Sherlock's death was on June 16****th****. I know in ACD's canon, Sherlock was gone for three years but I didn't want to stretch it quite so far. Again, I hope you've enjoyed this and come back for more. Also, I apologize for any grammatical errors. I stayed home with a migraine today while writing this so I'm not quite as good about catching them as I normally am. Reviews are appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

**So sorry this chapter took so long! I've had a horrible cold the last few days and at night when I get home and take my meds they make me so drowsy I don't have enough time to write anything concrete that isn't slightly drug-induced. I hope this chapter was worth the wait and thank you to those who reviewed and who've put this story on Alert, it means a ton!**

**Chapter 2**

"Taking in another stray, Moira?"

I turned from watching John walking out of the market to see one of the farm hands who made the trip with me standing just behind me. I smiled at the slight disapproval on his face.

"Oh, but I'd so love another puppy! Or perhaps not a puppy, he doesn't really remind me of one, though I suspect that he's fiercely loyal. He reminds me a bit of…well…a hedgehog. I don't know why."

He continued to scowl and I laughed. Bastian had come to work for us about six months before, he was a brilliant worker, and tireless it seemed but kept mostly to himself while working and after. He especially kept his distance, I noticed, from Ben. he said he didn't think I should be so open and trusting to someone who had no background that we could check into.

"Don't worry so, Bastian. He's no stray. He's just someone who needs some room to breathe."

"You barely know him."

"I've known him for eight months!"

"Four _days _a month, Moira."

I walked back to the counter to assist a customer, giving him an affectionate eye roll and a pat on the shoulder. "Now, now, Mummy. Don't take on so. I promise to be extra careful around the troublemaking doctor."

He shook his head and sighed. "You could stand to be a little more careful with who you let into your life. People might take advantage."

I gave him another eye-roll and went back to work, looking forward to heading home that evening, not at all realizing how accurate his words would turn out to be.

John returned promptly at three, duffel over his left shoulder. I waved him over through the now mostly empty car park.

"Ready to go?"

He nodded and we headed towards my car. Bastian and another of the hands, David, would be driving the truck. I opened the trunk and reached for his bag, which I noticed, with pleasure, was heavier than just a couple of day's worth of clothes. Then I noticed the outline of a laptop.

"We have wireless Internet at the house," I said. "I had it installed a couple of years ago to maintain the farm website. We do some orders over the Internet for local restaurants and things."

He looked confused for a moment before I tapped the bulky shape. His cheeks pinked a bit.

"Oh. I didn't bring it along for that, really. Thought I might do a bit of writing. I haven't kept up with it lately. Nothing's happened to me."

"And a short pop up to my farm is something? Well, then we'll certainly do what we can to make it worthy of writing about!"

We began the two and a half hour drive home with me filling him in on the rest of the days sales, something he seemed fairly interested in. Then silence set in the farther we got from London.

"I figured you could take one of the spare rooms up at the main house. We used to use the gardener's cottage for special guests but since Ben has taken that, and he's a fierce one about his privacy when he wants it, it didn't seem fair to you to drop you in with him. The guest room on the ground floor will be yours so it shouldn't be a problem for your leg." His hand tightened on his thigh. "If that's alright with you." I added softly.

"That's fine, thanks."

"I'm up early, but very quiet about it. The first few months Ben was fairly bedridden and I got very good about going about my morning business in very near silence," I said, hoping to prompt a laugh from him. He continued to watch the world roll by his window as city turned into green.

"I'm an early riser myself," he murmured.

"Excellent. I never have company in the morning. I like to have tea out on the patio, it's a beautiful spot to watch the sun come up over the fields and trees."

"Sounds…lovely."

"It is," I glanced at him. "I do hope this little jaunt does you some good, John. I know it may seem silly. A long weekend at a farm in the country. Especially so close to…whatever it is you're dealing with. But I think the farm is what saved me after losing mum, dad, and Ella. There's just something about the place. Heals all kinds of hurts."

He looked over at me then, there was some strain around his eyes but he gave me a twitch of a smile. "I hope so, too."

I gave him another glance. "And uh…not pushing or prying at all, I promise but…if you ever want to talk…please, don't hesitate."

"It's not something I can talk about…at least not now. But thank you, Moira."

"Of course. So. What would you like for dinner? Lord knows Ben will have forgotten to eat as he always does when I'm not around to force him to. I was thinking a roast chicken and some vegetables. Maybe heat up that peach pie for dessert with some ice cream?"

"Sounds great. Your, ah, friend won't mind me dropping in?" It was the way he said 'friend' that had me grinning.

"I promise, John, Ben is just a friend. Not that he isn't lovely and perfectly charming when he wants to be. But he's a fair bit older than me and he seems…rather oblivious. One of our seasonal hands a few months ago, poor thing, went out of her way to try and get him to notice her and he completely ignored her. When I mentioned it later he was so shocked, he hadn't even noticed. Despite the age difference I always feel a bit like he's the younger sibling and I'm always looking after him."

"But…that's him. Do you like him?"

I thought about it a moment. "I suppose I did, when he first came, it was all like something out of a story. This tragically handsome young man, injured in my fields, can't remember a thing of his former life. Plain little me left to nurse him back to health. I suppose for awhile there I imagined when he finally did come back 'round that he'd have fallen madly in love with me in his fever-addled brain but it didn't and he didn't and I suppose that's that. Now he's just 'Ben'. I'm as fascinated by him as I am irritated by him and I absolutely adore him all at once. But it's strictly platonic now."

He gave a nod before looking back out the window. It was several minutes later when I heard him mumble, "You're not plain." But before I could comment, I realized he'd dropped off to sleep.

About an hour later I reached over to give him a gentle nudge. He jolted awake. "Easy there, we're almost there, wanted you to get a good look at your home away from home for the next few days."

We'd driven through most of the town and were just driving along some of the other local farms. A few more turns and we turned onto the road that led to home, driving under the sign my great grandfather had put up when he'd begun. Fíorghrá Farm, it read.

"What's it mean?" He asked.

"True Love in Gaelic. My great-grandfather had bought the land right after he and my great-grandmother had gotten married and moved here. She had left behind everything, her family, their farm, the entire life she'd known to marry some penniless young man from England, her being Irish and her family not taking too kindly to the English, you understand. So he wanted to give her something to remind her of how much he knew she'd given up and how much he loved her. They had eight children and died three months apart, both well into their nineties, about twelve years ago. My granddad, that would be their third child and first son, took over the farm when they decided to take a trip round the world about forty years back but he died about twenty years later and it came to my dad. He always wanted me and Ella to run it together someday, he didn't mind we were both girls, but Ella, she was so brilliant, she wanted to be a doctor and when she got into medical school early…Lord, he was so proud, he cried."

"When did they die?" he asked me softly.

I knew my own throat had thickened, as thinking about them often did to me. "Ah, six years ago. She was eighteen. She hadn't even gotten to start yet."

"I'm so sorry…"

I smiled and reached over and patted his hand. "Thank you. It always hurts to think of them, but it hurts a little less every time because I always remember to think of something happy, instead of something sad."

"Does it help?"

"It does. Well, here we are!" I said as we made the final turn. I saw his jaw drop slightly and grinned. Most people expect some tiny little cottage when they think of a farm house but my great-grandfather had done quite well in this area with the farm and he'd continued to show my great-grandmother how much he appreciated her love and support by building her one of the finest homes in, in my opinion, all of England. A three-story masterpiece of brick and wood, gardens sprawling across the front drive and around the side, a porch that wrapped completely around, the sight of my ancestral home never failed to completely astonish me.

"It's…bigger then I was expecting, I guess," he finally said.

"I did say they had eight children."

"You certainly did." And he smiled the first genuine smile I'd seen all day.

I led him up the steps to the porch and through the front door. While the outside had made it look like the kind of place where running in the house was never permitted, the inside was very much lived in and, I liked to think, cozy. I led him through the main living room to a bedroom that had a big bay window view of the land and river. He stood by the window, awestruck, as I put his duffle on the bed.

"It's something, isn't it?"

"All this is yours?" he asked.

"Mhm, my little kingdom. You have a lovely view of the orchards from here, and there, off to the left behind those trees, that's the gardener's cottage, you can just see a few of his bee boxes. Down there is the river, there's a path that runs along the bank, a few bridges scattered throughout to get to the other side if you ever feel like a hike."

"You were right."

I tilted my head. "About what?"

"I think being here will help."

Nothing he'd said could've pleased me more and I was grateful he'd had his back turned so he couldn't see my eyes fill. I'd always been prone to tears but I felt like they might embarrass him.

"I'm very glad. Well, you get yourself settled in and I'll get dinner started. Feel free to make yourself at home. Kitchen's just out this door, down the hall and to the left."

"Thank you, Moira. For all of this."

I went with impulse and walked over to give him a hug, he only hesitated a moment before returning it.

"See you in a bit," I said, before leaving him to settle himself in.

Once the chicken and vegetables were roasting in the oven I gave a call down to the cottage to check on Ben and got no answer. Probably busy with the bees, I thought, and decided to just pop down and check on him.

I made my way down the path to the cottage and as more and more bee boxes became visible I realized he wasn't with them at all. When I reached his door I gave it a gentle tap and it eased open. The cottage was just that: a small kitchen to the right, a sitting room, a bedroom and a toilet. We'd cleaned them up a bit when Ben decided to stay on so they were a cheerful yellow but now they were so covered with diagrams and drawings he'd done that you could barely see the yellow. I noticed no dishes in the sink, and since he was one to forget them unless I badgered him into it or did it myself, I realized I'd been right and he hadn't eaten. I heard a noise from the bedroom.

I'd been telling John the truth when I'd said we were strictly platonic but we were a very…familiar platonic. Personal space was something else that Ben seemed to be completely oblivious about and that didn't bother me at all, and while in the beginning he'd seemed puzzled by my casual habits for physical affection, such as a hug or an arm about the waist when standing close together or a chin on the shoulder when he was explaining something to me, we'd become very careless about how we behaved around one another. To anyone unused to our behaviors, it would be easy to presume that we were lovers. Which is why I felt no hesitation at all in walking into his bedroom. He was curled on his side towards the wall, in a nearly fetal position, the blankets tangled around him. Normally, this wouldn't be unusual, except that he was mumbling to himself and tossing or twitching every few seconds.

I crossed the room quickly and put a hand on his forehead. He was sweating like mad and his skin was warm to the touch. I tried to gently roll him to his back, untangling him as I did. Finally, he was prone on his back and looking at me through glassy, unfocused eyes but still mumbling. I leaned closer.

"More…tea…" he mumbled. "More…tea."

I saw the empty teacup beside his bed. I stroked his damp hair back. "I think you've had enough tea, love. How about some water? You're burning up."

He continued to mumble about tea but I ran to fetch him some water and some aspirin instead. I eased him up and helped him take both before taking his temperature and settling him back on the pillows.

"Moira," he croaked.

"It's me. Just back from London. You've overdone it again, haven't you?"

His brow furrowed and his head lolled from side to side in the negative. "Well, you've got a fever of 101.8 so I say you have. You lay back down and get some sleep. I'll bring you some food in a bit. Unless you'd like to come up to the main house and stay 'til you're feeling better?"

He shook his head again. "I'll be alright. Thank you."

"Of course." I pulled his blankets up and tucked him in like a child before dropping a kiss on his forehead. "I'll be back in a little while. You just call if you need anything, alright?"

But he was already asleep again and I headed back up to the house.

John emerged about forty minutes later and came into the kitchen just as I was pulling out the chicken.

"That looks incredible."

"Thank you, it's not often I get to cook for more than one or two people so I'm pleased with the results, though it'll just be you and me tonight. Ben's gone and overdone and got himself a lovely fever for his trouble."

John frowned. "Would you like me to run down and take a look?"

I shook my head. "No, thanks though, he overdoes it sometimes. Works too hard, sleeps and eats too little. At first he tried to work through it but I finally told him better a day in bed then a week in the hospital. I gave him some aspirin and some water rather than the tea he kept mumbling for and he went right to sleep."

"He was asking for tea?"

"He always asks for tea when he's sick. More tea. I'll run him down some dinner later and check on him but he should be alright by morning."

"Alright."

A few minutes later we were sitting at the large wooden table in the kitchen, a perfect roast chicken, thank you very much, and some of the best of our summer vegetables and a bottle of really excellent wine by grandfather, a particular connoisseur of wines, had kept stocked in the wine cellar. I was telling John about my very large extended family, entertaining him with stories like my Great Uncle Seamus' coming home so sodding drunk one night and…relieving himself on the base of one of my great-gran's apple trees and wouldn't you know those were the brightest red apples they had that whole season.

I left for a few minutes around 7 to check on Ben and bring him some dinner, urging the doctor to enjoy the rest of his dinner. Ben was still sleeping so I left dinner covered for him on the bedside table with instructions to heat, which I was confident he would ignore, before returning to the main house.

I could see John relaxing with the more stories I told and by the fourth glass of wine his cheeks were turning pink and his smile got more crooked. I didn't want to get the man _completely _drunk, however much he needed to relax so at about 9:30 I asked if he wanted to join me in a cup of tea and some telly in the family room.

He agreed and we headed in with our tea. I discovered with some pleasure that there was a marathon of Doctor Who on and with some pride I announced that I had seen every episode. Including the truly ridiculous TV movie they'd made back in the 90s. After that it was an hour-long discussion on the best Doctor (the 4th for him, the 11th for me, I admitted to a rather enormous crush on the actor, Matt Smith) and the best villain (a mutual agreement on the funniest being the Daleks and the most terrifying being the Weeping Angels). Finally, he yawned.

"I do think I've worn you out today, Doctor Watson."

He gave me a sleepy grin. "I guess I was more tired than I thought."

We said our goodnights and went to our separate rooms. As I got ready for bed I heard a buzz from my dresser where my phone sat. Checking it, I saw I had a text message.

"Thks for dinner. Better. Brkfst tmrw?" His childish shorthand never failed to amuse me.

"Of course," I texted back. "I've got a friend from London staying for a few of days. Do try and be polite."

As I crawled beneath the covers, the phone buzzed again.

"Mst i?"

"Yes. Goodnight, Ben."

"Gn, M."

I shut my eyes and drifted off to sleep, looking forward to having my new friends meet, not at all capable of imagining just what the morning would bring.

**Chapter three will be very exciting, I hope. And I really hope you all enjoyed this one. Reviews make me feel awesome (and I'm still sick so have pity and review to make me feel better!) but I really appreciate the reads. Next chapter will be up soon I'm thinking. I have it planned, just need to write it all out. The meds are starting to set in and with it the drowsiness so again I apologize for any grammatical errors. Mofftiss owns all and I own only what my imagination creates.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here is chapter 3, I was going to wait til I got back from my weekend trip to post this but I couldn't wait to get it all down and written out and since I finished I figured I might as well post it. Hope you all like it!**

**Chapter 3**

"SHERLOCK!"

I was ripped out of sleep about two hours after I'd fallen if my clock was accurate. At first I hadn't been sure what had woken me but a moment later the cry came again.

"SHERLOCK! NO!"

I was up and running before I'd even realized it. Sprinting down the stairs (an amazing feat I'd recall later for someone so typically clumsy and half asleep at the time) I could hear John's tossing and turning the closer I got to his room. His cries had degenerated into sobs as I shoved the door open. Oh, Jesus.

He was twisted in his bed sheets, his legs struggling against being confined. Tears streamed down his face, eyes screwed tightly shut. I hurried to bed and tried to pull the sheets free, murmuring comforting words.

"John, John, it's alright. It's a bad dream. Wake up, John."

It didn't seem to matter once his legs were free, his body had gone limp and he was just crying now. Much as I'd done several hours earlier with Ben I brushed his hair back to find that it was soaked with sweat. I went to the adjoining bath for a towel and some water and I perched on the edge of his bed and dried and cooled his face. He couldn't seem to stop the tears but couldn't bring himself to turn from the comfort. Bleary, watery blue eyes looked up at me.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be. We all have bad nights." It was only the two of us in the house so I wasn't sure why we were whispering; the night seemed to call for it.

"I shouldn't have come…"

I cut him off. "You shouldn't have had four glasses of wine, more like. But we were enjoying ourselves and it didn't occur to me that it might make you vulnerable."

"That hasn't happened in awhile…"

"How long is awhile?"

"A couple months. Maybe. I can't remember."

"So, it might happen a lot more often and you just don't remember."

He shut his eyes. "Maybe."

"Then I'm glad you were here and not alone. Are you feeling better?"

"I guess."

"I'm going to go make some tea, would you like some?"

He frowned at me. "You should go back to sleep, I'm sorry I woke you."

"I'm your friend, John. No apologies necessary, alright?"

He looked at me silently for a moment before nodding.

"Good. I'll be right back."

As I reached the door, he spoke.

"His name was Sherlock Holmes. He was my best friend and he…he died. Two years ago."  
>I turned slowly back, he was propped up against the headboards, his knees pulled up and arms wrapped around them, chin on his knees. I didn't think he wanted me to speak so I walked back towards the bed and sat on the foot, facing him. He slowly proceeded to tell me about how they'd met, how Sherlock Holmes had known everything about John immediately upon meeting him. About the pink case, the Chinese assassin, the madman with the bombs and the pool, the Woman, the hound...<p>

"And then he was back. Got caught breaking into the Tower of London, Pentonville Prison, and the Bank of England. All at the same time. Wanted to get caught. I don't know why Moriarty picked us, him, rather, I was just…an accessory, I guess. But he tried to make the world believe Sherlock was a fraud. That he had hired Moriarty to do all these things so that he could make everyone think he was so clever. I never believed it. Not for a minute. We were trying to figure out what to do…we were running from the Yard because they thought Sherlock had kidnapped these two kids just so they'd all be impressed when he found them and we had to go on the run. I'd left because someone called saying Mrs. Hudson had been shot. Sherlock stayed behind. I yelled at him. But when I got back to our flat…she was fine and I knew something was wrong so I ran back to St. Barts. He called. Sherlock never called. Preferred to text. He was standing on the roof. Told me it was all an act. A magic trick. That he was a fake…and this phone call was his note. He told me goodbye…and he jumped."

Somewhere during his story I had started to cry, his head was buried on his knees now and I could hear the tears in his voice.

"And the thing is…I never believed him. I knew he was lying to me. And soon everyone knew he'd been telling the truth. They found Moriarty's body on the roof, it was pretty obviously a suicide. And then they found the reporter, the one who'd done the exposé on him strangled in her apartment, it only took a little digging for them to find out all the background on Richard Brook, that's what he called himself, was fake and that Moriarty was real. Sherlock was exonerated on all charges, everyone knew they'd been tricked and that Sherlock was really as clever as I'd always known. But he's gone and I don't know why. I don't know why he jumped. I don't know why he tried to make me believe he was a liar when he wasn't. I don't know anything and it's…driving me absolutely mad."

His shoulders were shaking and I reached out and put my hands on them, leaning in until my head touched his.

"I…don't know why he did the things he did, John. But from everything you've told me…it seems like he never did anything without a reason. And everything tells me…that the only possible reason he would do those things…would be to somehow to protect you."

He raised ravaged eyes to me. "Protect me from what? Moriarty was dead! There was no one else. His bloody arch-nemesis was dead! What could I have needed protecting from?"

"I don't know. I can't answer that. That's just how it seems to me. You came into his life-"

"He came into mine. He gave me a…a purpose. A way to be semi-useful after Afghanistan. Maybe saved my life. I was just filling in for the skull for him."

I gripped him tight. "Don't demean your friendship. You gave him just as much as he gave you, maybe more. You made him care, not just for you, but for other people too. You checked him when he was inappropriately blunt, you kept him clean, you made him sleep, eat, you took care of him. Something I'm thinking he'd never had before."

"He was so brilliant. I'll never understand what he saw in me."

"He may have been brilliant, John, but even brilliance needs the proper setting to be something extraordinary. If you hadn't come along, one of those days, risking his life to prove he was clever, it would have cost him. I think you saved his life a thousand times more than he ever saved yours."  
>"It did cost him. He's gone."<p>

"But not because he was trying to prove he was clever. I think he was trying to do what you taught him."

"What did I teach him? He already knew bloody everything…"

"He didn't know what it meant to be a hero."

He scoffed softly before reclining on the bed again. "I'm no hero. They don't exist. He told me."

"Well, then he didn't know everything, did he?"

He looked at me, surprised. "Heroes exist, John. You are one and you taught him how to be one. Even if you can't have all the answers you want, that should mean something to you."

A tear rolled down his cheek and he shut his eyes. "I miss him. So much. All the time." His voice was getting sleepy.

I eased off the bed and gently pulled the blankets up, tucking him in as I'd done Ben. "I know, love. But you can miss him and not make yourself ill."

He gave me a sleepy nod, and again, as I'd done with Ben, with only the slightest hesitation, I gently kissed his forehead. "Sleep well, my friend." And then I dragged myself up to my own bed and fell on top of my own sheets, not bothering to crawl under them. I was asleep before I hit the pillow.

As a rule, I was generally up before the sun. Today must have been an exception because sunlight was streaming in thru my window when I finally opened my eyes and sighed.

"Finally. Are you ill? You never sleep in."

I was too familiar with the voice to be startled by unexpected sound from over my shoulder.

"I am NOT ill. I had a late night."

"Your 'friend' downstairs is entirely too old for you."

I rolled over abruptly, mouth hanging open. His face was expressionless, deliberately so.

"Are you out of your mind? For one thing, it would be none of your business if I were, for another, do you think if he were here for THAT that we would be sleeping in separate beds right now?"

He shrugged casually. "I've known you for eight months and this is the first time you've had a man here and I know he matters to you."

"Of course he matters. He's my FRIEND. Much like you. Wait. How do you know he's too old for me?"

He gave me his most innocent expression. "I'm just looking out for you, Moira."

I rolled my eyes. "Spying is BENEATH you." I rolled off my bed and walked into the bathroom, calling to him from the other room. "I'll thank you kindly to stay out of my nonexistent personal life."

When I walked back in he actually looked chastised. And...sad. "What's wrong?"

"I...really was just looking out for you. I woke up and saw the dinner but I couldn't get back to sleep. I was going to come in but I saw you in the living room, watching Doctor Who. He seems...nice. He made you laugh. I didn't want to intrude."

He looked so sweetly perplexed. I took the moment when he wasn't paying attention to study him quickly. He certainly looked better then be had last night. He was wearing a grey knit sweater and a pair of fading jeans that had been my father's. They shared a height and build though my father had been longer in the arms so Ben frequently pushed the sleeves up. His hair was getting a little unruly, might be time for another trim, and he'd obviously come over this morning before shaving, his cheeks still showing scruff that he'd had from even before I'd left for London. Despite the attractive ruggedness he'd grown into the last few months, he still managed to be adorably child-like. And because of that it was impossible to stay mad at him. I walked back to the bed and flopped down beside him. "He's had a rough go of it, Ben. He lost someone very important to him. I'd like it if you two met. My lost boys."

"I resent the implication that I am, in anyway, lost or a boy."

"You're pouting."

"I am not."

"Of course, whatever you say. What would you like for breakfast?"

"I'm not all that hungry."

"You're never hungry which is why I'm making waffles."

"That makes absolutely no sense."

"I do not care in the slightest. Now come help me make breakfast and meet our guest."

The thing about Ben is, his idea is helping is to hover over my shoulder and then when I get frustrated enough to tell him to do something, he hurries off to get something in another room. Currently he was hovering over my right shoulder while I poured another round of batter into the waffle iron.

"That's too much batter."

"No, it is not."

"It's going to come out the sides."

"I do not care."

"It will leave a mess."

"I live for mess."

"But-"

"Ben, I swear to God-"

"Oh, wait, I drew up some plans for the next planting season that should help optimize production. I'll go fetch them." And he disappeared towards the study.

I was shaking my head, watching batter creep out the sides of the iron when I the kitchen door swung open. I turned to see a sleepy eyed John in the doorway. "Good morning, John. I was just making waffles so I hope you're hungry."

"Starved. Um. Moira. I wanted to say thank you. For last night."

I was pouring him a cup of tea as he spoke. "John. You have nothing to thank me for, I'm glad that you were able to talk to me. I hope it helped."

I handed him the cup, which he took with a smile. "It did. It's the first time I've talked about him to anyone other then my therapist and she wasn't...at all helpful."

"I'm sorry to hear that but I'm glad that I could be of assistance. Breakfast is almost ready, why don't you go sit out on the porch, Ben will be joining us, he just ran to fetch something. You go relax and we'll be right out."

He gave me a nod and another smile and walked out the back door. Ben walked back in from the hall a moment later. "John is awake and out on the porch. Be. Nice."

"I'm always nice!"

"When you want to be, and around me, that is true but I know how you get around strangers. He's a good person, a kind person, who I invited here to try to help heal some very personal wounds."

He must've seen how important this was on my face because he nodded solemnly. "I will be nice, I promise."

I walked over and wrapped my arms around him in a hug. "Thank you."

I heard the back door open. "Moira, are you sure you don't need any-"

The sound of a mug shattering had Ben and I jerking apart. John stood in the doorway, face pale, eyes wide as he stared at Ben who looked very confused at the reaction he was eliciting.

"John? John, what is it?" I stepped toward him as he stumbled back into the wall. "John!"

I lunged to catch him as he started to slide down the wall. "Oh, God. How...impossible...no."

"John, what is it? What's wrong?"

But he ignored me and pressed against the wall until he was standing straight, my arm around his waist in case he started to slide again. He continued to stare at Ben in something like horror and a terrible kind of grief. He took a step away from me toward Ben who was looking back and forth between us in confusion.

John's quiet whisper shattered the silence as powerfully as the shattering mug.

"Sherlock?"

**I hope this was worth the wait! My apologies for any errors, typing this whole thing on an iPad keyboard with auto-correct constantly working against you is a trial. Reviews are loved and appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry this update took so long, needed a few days to get it sorted out how I wanted to handle this chapter. I hope it was worth it!**

_John's quiet whisper shattered the silence as powerfully as the shattering mug._

"_Sherlock?"_

No one moved or even breathed for several moments. Ben looked slightly terrified and John's face was shifting between misery and hope.

"How? How, Sherlock? I watched you jump, saw you fall, saw you on the ground."

He was speaking too fast, panicking, eyes devouring him like he was afraid if he blinked too long he would disappear. Now Ben looked like he wanted to run from the room. I reached slowly for John's arm.

"John," I murmured. "Sherlock…you told me he was gone. Last night. Don't you remember?"

He looked at me briefly, his eyes slightly wild. "I know. I know what I told you. But he's here. He's standing right here. How are you here? Where have you been?"

Ben took a step back as John took a frantic step towards him. I stepped between them, a hand on John's chest to prevent him moving forward and Ben's sweater in my fist to prevent him from moving back.

"Let's all take a breath here a moment, alright?" I asked, looking between them. I could feel John's heartbeat under my hand and it was pounding.

"John, are you sure this is your friend? You've been…having a rough time of things lately. Not sleeping well, nightmares, are you _sure_?"

John stared at me, slightly outraged, before digging into his pocket and pulling out his phone. He typed with shaking fingers before thrusting the phone into my face. It was a photo of a man with blue-grey eyes, curling dark hair, impossible cheekbones, wearing a black coat and blue scarf. I knew Ben was looking over my shoulder because his hand came up to cover mine on his sweater and I could feel him shaking. It was impossible to deny what we were looking at, despite the scruff and the shorter lighter hair, the eyes and masterfully sculpted cheekbones were a dead giveaway.

"Alright," I said softly. "Well, that solves the first problem…"

"What's the other problem?" John ground out. He was pressing on my hand like he didn't care that I was in the way, like if he were separated from his believed-to-be-fallen friend a moment longer that he would run through me if he had to.

"The other problem is that while you remember him, Ben doesn't have the same luxury. And you're frightening him."

John looked incredulous for a moment before taking a closer look at Ben's face. Slowly his face fell. "You…don't remember me?"

Ben, or perhaps I should start calling him 'Sherlock' I thought sadly, gave a jerky shake of his head. He raised a hand to the fading scar at his temple.

"I told you, John. Remember? When we found him, he'd taken a nasty blow to the head, couldn't remember anything."

John looked devastated. "Right…right."

I looked away from him and turned to Ben who was looking at me, eyes pleading, I'm not sure for what. "John. I need you to do something for me. I need you to go back outside and sit down. We'll be out in a moment."

He looked at me like he wanted to say no. To latch onto Ben-Sherlock and never let him out of his sight again. "John. Please. He needs a moment. This is as much a shock for him as it is for you. Maybe more."

John stared at me for a moment before turning around quietly and leaving the kitchen, closing the door with a snap. I immediately turned and wrapped my arms around my friend. He clung a little desperately.

"You ok?" I asked gently.

"I…I don't know. That picture, Moira. That's me."

"I know. It's going to be all right. We'll figure this all out."

"How? I've been here eight months and couldn't remember a thing. Now a total stranger appears who knows all about me and…and I just can't remember."

"We'll go outside, we'll eat, we'll talk. Maybe if John tells you some things about yourself…things will come back. He was telling me stories about…you last night. I think he might've known you better than anyone. He's probably the best person for this. You don't remember him at all? Nothing?"

He hesitated a moment. "There's something…in his face, I can't quite see it. It's like I'm looking at it from far away. I don't know."

"Alright, that's alright. It's not your fault."

"He said…I had died. Jumped off a building? Two years ago?"

"Yes."

"Why would I do that? How did I survive? And if I only lost my memories when I came here…what was I doing between the jump and then?"

So many questions, I could only hope we could find the answers. I leaned my forehead against his.

"We're going to try and figure that out, ok? I'll be right here the whole time. I promise. Now come on, I'm not sure he'll be able to stay out there alone much longer."

I took his hand and together we went outside.

John was standing on the porch, his back to us, standing ramrod straight.

"John?"

He turned to face us and his face was strangely blank. He walked to the table and sat down and we joined him. I kept Ben's (I can't think of him as Sherlock yet, I just can't) hand in mine. "Alright. We're going to talk, the three of us, and we're going to try and sort out some of everyone's questions. No one is going to get angry, no one is going to leave. I think it's safe to say this is uncharted territory for…well, anyone but it's not going to helped with yelling and demands and people storming off. Understood?"

They both nodded. "Good. Now, John, I think you need to do some answering first. He doesn't have a memory, he can't answer your questions right now so I think we need to work at trying to bring back some of his memories back. Does that make sense?"

His fists tightened for a moment but he nodded. I looked at Ben and squeezed his hand. "Go on."

He took a breath before looking at John, they stared at each other unblinking for a moment before he spoke. "My name…you said it was Sherlock?"

John nodded again. "Yes." It came out hoarse so he cleared his throat. "Yes. Sherlock Holmes."

"It's…interesting."

"You have a brother named Mycroft."

"Good Lord, what was your mother thinking?" I asked, attempting to keep the mood semi-light. They both ignored me.

"I have a brother?"

"Yes. He…works for the government, I'm not sure what he does really, most of the time it seems like he IS the government."

"Are we…close? My brother and I?"

John hesitated. "I don't know about when you were younger but since I've known you it doesn't seem so. Mycroft likes to have control of everything. I think it was safe to assume that you didn't care for that. Not that he doesn't…didn't try. Constantly."

"And my…my parents?"

John closed his eyes, the cool mask falling away for a moment before he took a breath. "Your father died when you were a boy, a car accident. Your mother is alive, she's a kind woman, I've only met her a few times, she loves you very much though…I don't think she always knew quite what to make of you."

"What does that mean?"

"You have this…way of looking at the world. You observe everything. It's why you were so good at what you did."

"And what did I do?"

"You were a consulting detective. The only one in the world. You invented the job."

"That seems pompous of me."

"You could be cold, impossibly cold. Everything was about the work. You were devoted to it, didn't care who you had to hurt to get to the answers. Even if it was yourself. I watched you risk your life so many times, just to prove you were the smartest in the room. You called everyone an idiot. You wouldn't speak for days and when you did it was to issue demands. You would play your violin at ungodly hours. You barely ate, barely slept. I was your only friend and you left me."

I had been so paralyzed by what John was saying, thinking he couldn't possibly be talking about Ben. My Ben, who, yes, could go days without speaking but always resurfaced with an apology and a smile. Who was brilliant but never made me feel stupid about it. Who kept BEES for God's sake. I was so distracted by the impossible words that I didn't notice that Ben had begun to shake beside me. I turned to look at him and his face was…indescribable. Like every word was causing him agony.

"Enough, John!"

"No! It's not enough! I was the only one who could put up with you, who ever bothered to, and you left me! You just left! I went to your grave everyday for six months and begged for you to come back because, if anyone could do it, it would have been you and you hadn't even really died. You just left! You called me and made me watch you jump off a damn building, your head and face covered in blood, you made me watch it and you just walked away! Why? I want to know why!"

"John, stop!"

John and I were both standing now, on opposite sides of the table. Ben still sitting between us, his eyes wide and horrified.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and I could hear the tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Then, before I could stop him, he jumped up and ran off the porch. I turned to John, furiously.

"Which part of no getting mad, no yelling, no demands did you NOT understand? Which part of 'he can't remember ANYTHING' did you mishear? What part of he is bloody terrified right now did you fail to comprehend! And you thought it would be a good idea to tell him how impossible he was, how cold and unfeeling he was! What is wrong with you!"

John's face had been shifting down from anger since Ben's whispered apology. As I berated his callousness, he sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. By the time I was done his shoulders were shaking.

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do." He was sobbing. I sat tiredly into my chair. My normal instinct would have been to reach out, to comfort, but I couldn't quite get past the look he'd put on Ben's face.

"No one does, John. This is an impossible situation. But you have to realize something: he's not your Sherlock anymore. He's been Ben for eight months now. He's different from the man you described. He feels things. And you hurt him."

A sound like a moan escaped him. I ignored the feelings of pity. "It's not as simple as bringing back all his old memories. He has new ones, ones that might clash with his old ones. You can't just force 'Ben' out because you want 'Sherlock' back to answer all your questions and face your anger. Because that's what it is. You're angry at Sherlock, but you're yelling at Ben and Ben has done nothing to deserve your anger."

He wiped at his eyes and he looked so much like a beaten puppy that I couldn't keep myself distant anymore. I leaned forward and covered his hands. "You are going to stay here. You're going to eat something because you look terrible and, I don't like to brag, but my waffles fix everything. You're going to make some tea, you're going to go inside to the study, there's a notebook on it that I keep meaning to use and haven't and you're going to write. You said you haven't in a long time and you're going to start. You're going to write down all your adventures. All the ones you told me about last night like you were writing them as a story. Like they were by someone who didn't live them. And when you're done you're going to give them to me and I'm going to read them and then I'm going to give them to him and then we're all going to sit down and try this again. But that's what you're going to do. And I'm going to go down and check on him because something about Ben that is different from Sherlock is that he is going to beat himself up about not remembering and about everything you said he was and he doesn't deserve that right now when his world has just been upended. So I am going to go be with my friend who I hope will be a friend to you as well when this is all sorted. Understand?"

He sighed and closed his eyes and nodded. I leaned back. "Third door on the left in the hall off the kitchen. Grab some waffles and tea on your way."

He nodded again before pushing himself up and walking into the kitchen. And for the first time that morning I realized he didn't have his cane.

I walked down to the cottage, hands in the pockets of my pajama bottoms, a sweater over my shirt. It was a lovely morning despite everything that had happened so far in it. But I didn't take the time I usually did to appreciate what I had managed to make of my family farm on the walk. I was too focused on the man in the small cottage who had so brokenly whispered his 'I'm sorry's' minutes ago. I reached his door and tapped softly. It was for form really, we had dispensed with such formalities early on. I eased open the door and it was dark in the cottage but I could make out his shape on the small couch by the window in the sitting room. His knees were drawn up against his chest, much like John had sat last night. I slowly walked over to sit beside him and slipped an arm around his waist.

"He was angry. He's missed you horribly. He has so many unanswered questions. He lashed out. He feels horribly."

He took a ragged breath. "I was a monster."

"No," I said firmly, giving him a shake. "You know it's not that simple. There are always reasons for why we are the way we are. I don't think you were a cold person. I think you were protecting yourself by putting up walls, I think you were different, brilliant, but people don't understand difference, even a brilliant difference and they berate it, mock it, make it feel a thousand times worse than it deserves. I think people didn't understand you and tried to make you think it was your own fault so you had to keep yourself safe from hurt. But I think you found a friend. One who appreciated you, understood you, and perhaps he got frustrated with you but he always knew there was more under the surface. And I think he has been mourning that loss for a long time and now he doesn't know what to do with everything that he's feeling. But I do know one thing for absolutely certain. YOU are NOT a monster."

"I forgot your birthday."

I scoffed. "Yes, and then proceeded to wake me at three a.m. the next morning with a cake and presents and a thousand apologies."

He sighed. "Where is he now?"

"I gave him an assignment. It should keep him occupied. So you and I are going to spend the day together. I called Bastian and a few of the other lads on my way down, they're going to handle everything today and you and I are going to do whatever you'd like. We can stay here and watch crap telly, we can go into town, we can walk the whole Blossom trail. It is entirely up to you all right? Now go get dressed and think about what you'd like to do and we'll get started when you get back. Off you pop." I gave him a gentle shove and he gave me a dazed nod before walking off towards the toilet.

"Moira?" he said from the door.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Always."

**Read and review! Hope you liked it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry this chapter took longer than expected. I went through a few drafts before I was completely satisfied with it and I think it turned out well. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 5**

Ben emerged a few minutes later, dressed similarly to myself with just a sweater pulled over his pajama shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

"Staying in?" I asked.

"For now. Is that alright?"

"Of course." I dragged the pillows off the couch and settled them on the floor, I patted the space next to me and he sat, his head tipping back to rest on the seat of the couch behind him. I gave his arm a rub. "Hey."

He tilted his head to look at me. "Everything is going to be fine. I promise."

I grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels, searching for the most brainless and least-thought-provoking program I could find. I settled for one of those ridiculous talk shows where no one knows who the father of their child is.

"What happens to me if I remember?"

It was asked so quietly I nearly missed it, I muted the television before turning towards him.

"What do you mean?"

"What happens to…me, the me I am now, if I remember what it was like to be…him? Will I just go away? Like I was never here? Will everything here matter to me the way it did yesterday?"

I sighed. "I don't know. I don't know what will happen. I don't think you could ever be the way you were when John knew you. Too much has happened to you. The man John described…I think he's gone, and you may get your memories of him and his life back…but you're who you are now and I think that's what matters."

"I don't want to forget you. Or this place. I don't know that I want to remember at all."

I dropped my head on his shoulder. "Will it upset you if I tell you I don't know if I want you to remember either?"

"You don't?"

I shook my head. "I don't want things to change. I was drowning when you got here. You were like some buoy that I spotted after days…months really of just endlessly being tossed about at sea. I just clung to you and you kept me floating. If your memories come back…will you want to leave, go back to London, to your life with John? If you are as brilliant as he's told me…will you be satisfied with a life in the country on a farm or will you need…something more exciting?"

We didn't speak for a long time, both occupied with our thoughts. I can't say for certain what he was thinking but after awhile I heard his breathing even out as he dropped off to sleep. It was such a comforting sound, so soothing, that it wasn't long before I faded off myself. I woke quite awhile later, judging by the changing light of the room and felt a buzz in my pocket. I reached in and found my phone where a text message was waiting.

'Done. – JW'

A glance at the clock told me that our short nap had actually been about four hours. Emotional crises certainly wear out a body. At some point during the nap we'd shifted from propped on the couch to horizontal on the floor where he still remained, sleeping. I tucked a throw around him, left a note on the pillow beside him and walked back up to the house.

I stood in the doorway of the study watching John stare out the window, the notebook held tight in his hands.

"You were done faster then I had expected."

He didn't turn to look at me when he answered. "I used to write a blog about our cases. All the details never really went away. I just got a bit more…creative in the telling."

I took a step forward and held out a hand for the book. He hesitated.

"How…how is he?"

"He's asleep, he has been for a few hours. This has all been a bit of a bombshell for all of us."

"Does he do that often?"

"Do what?"

"Sleep."

I thought about it a moment. "Probably not as much as he should, which is why he gets sick quite often. But when he really needs it he…hibernates for a day and then he's good as new. When he had pneumonia he slept almost round the clock for a month so I figure he's got 'awake' time stored up."

He nodded and put the book in my hands. I saw the dark circles forming under his eyes. "John, why don't you go and have a lie down yourself? You look exhausted. I'll wake you for dinner."

He took a breath and nodded before leaving the room. I took his seat and took my own breath before opening the book and beginning to read.

_A Study in Pink_

_Have you ever had a moment where you met someone and knew immediately that they were going to matter? I had one of those moments. That person's name was Sherlock Holmes and this is how he changed my life._

I'm not sure how much time passed as I sat there reading but the sun was much lower in the sky when I finally came up for air. It was a little while after that when I was able to stop thinking about what I had read. I felt eerily drugged, my brain in a haze, and it took me a moment to hear someone calling my name.

"Moira? Moira."

I turned to see Bastian in the doorway.

"You alright, boss?"

I nodded, dazed. "Yea. Yea, I'm fine. What is it?"

He gave me a funny look. "It's nearly six, Moira. The lads wanted to know if they could head out."

"Oh. Oh, of course, I'm sorry. I lost track of time. You all have a good night."

"You sure you're alright? Your strays giving you trouble?"

"They're not strays, Bastian. They're people," I snapped.

"They're strangers. And if they're this much of a distraction to you-"

"I still run this farm, Bastian. If you have a problem with how I run things, especially things that have nothing to do with the business, then there's the door."

His face went cold. "No problem, ma'am. Just an observation. I'll keep them to myself from now on." And he turned sharply and walked back out the way he'd come.

I shut my eyes and let my head fall back. I would apologize for that tomorrow, I knew. My thoughts went back to the notebook. John had a gift for storytelling. He had given me the gist the night before, when he'd first told me about the Sherlock Holmes who'd been his friend but in reading it I got a much better sense of the man he'd lost, the man I'd found. I knew Ben had to read this but with every turn of the page I saw my friend slipping farther and farther away from me; knowing that, after reading this, I couldn't let him run away from this, bury himself here with me when he was so obviously meant for more.

And it was going to break my heart.

"Moira?"

I turned back to the door and John stood there now. "Hi."

"Hello. Did you ah…did you finish?"

"Yes."

He waited, warily.

"You have a real talent, John. It's…wonderful. And amazing. And devastating. I'm so sorry."

He nodded. "Are you going to show it to him?"

"Yes. Tomorrow."

He looked surprised. "Why tomorrow?"

I stood up and faced him. I stopped trying to fight the tears. "Because I'm going to ask you to let me be selfish tonight."

"Selfish?"

"He won't just be my Ben after he reads this. I won't let him. He's got to get his memory back if it takes the rest of my life to help him get them back. And he will get them back if he's as brilliant as you say, and as I know he is. And then he'll never be my Ben ever again. So, I'm asking you to let me have this last night where he's just mine before I give him back to you."

I felt like a child, using tears to get my way, but they were genuine and I was just too tired to hold them in anymore.

"Moira," he started.

"Please, John. Please. Just tonight. He's my best friend too and once he gets his memories back…he won't be coming back to me the way he will for you. I won't get this chance."

He stared at me. "You said you didn't see him that way…you said it was platonic."

"Maybe it's not, what the bloody hell do I know?" I cried, laughing through my tears at my own stupidity.

"Moira-"

"I don't want your pity. I've had a few hours to accept this. I just want tonight."

"Of course. I'm sorry, Moira. Truly."

I breathed in relief. "Alright. Good. There's um…there's leftovers in the fridge. Take whatever you like. Make yourself at home." I started to walk past him when his hand touched my arm. I looked up at him and saw the tears in his eyes as well.

"We could let it go. He wouldn't have to know. You could keep him yours. If you love him-"

I shook my head with a sad smile. "I don't know if I do and now is definitely not the time to figure it out. No, John. I read your book. Read about all the people he's helped. He has more people to help and that has to matter more than me. And after everything the two of you have been through…you deserve to know why. It's all right. I'll be fine."

I left the room, stopping off in the kitchen and filling up one of the small coolers with provisions for the night. I grabbed a couple bottles of wine from the cellar before heading back to the cottage. Ben was still sprawled on the floor (clearly it was a hibernation day) so I set about starting dinner.

About an hour later I heard him stirring as the smells of dinner filled the small house.

"Moira?"

"In here, hope you're hungry."

"Did I sleep all day?"

"You needed it. You were sick last night and it was hardly an easy morning."

He winced as if remembering. "We probably need to go back up to the house, don't we?"

"No, tomorrow, I gave John a project to do that I think will help and he's still working on it so we'll all convene tomorrow morning."

"Oh." He looked relieved and I felt my heart clench.

"There's a movie marathon on tonight I thought we could catch. I think you'll like the line-up."

"Which ones?"

"Hitchcock. _Strangers on a Train, Vertigo, Psycho, Rebecca_."

He looked ridiculously pleased. "Sounds like an all-nighter. Aren't you tired?"

"Not at all," I lied. "All-nighter it is. Now come take some dinner and we'll get started."

I had made his favorite dinner, just in case it wasn't really his favorite, also cookies. From John's stories I knew that Sherlock didn't really eat when he didn't have to (which was always while working) and I foolishly thought the more he ate now the more he'd have stored up for later. Completely ridiculous. But I cooked anyway. A full plate of spaghetti and meatballs for each of us later and we were settled comfortably on the floor with a plate full of cookies and tea.

We'd discovered his enjoyment of old movies while he'd been sick. At first I had read to him to help settle him during the worst of the fever and nightmares and that had helped only slightly and even less so when he'd been more alert, he had grown restless. When I had to go back out to help with the farm I had dragged a television into the room with a stack of films at easy reach, when I'd come back at night they'd be divided into piles of likes and dislikes and almost every film in the likes pile had been made before 1965.

So here we sat with a marathon of Alfred Hitchcock. I dozed off somewhere towards the end of _Strangers on a Train_, it had never been my favorite of the Hitchcock films but Ben was partial to it. I slept through all of _Vertigo_ and awoke to the screeching shower scene in _Psycho_ with a jolt. I was still disoriented so I remained prone on what I thought was one of the couch cushions before I realized that the cushion was giving off a heartbeat. I turned my head slightly to see that Ben had obviously not hibernated enough an had fallen back to sleep, a pillow propped behind him, one arm thrown up over his head, the other wrapped around my shoulders, holding me to his side. I must've shifted to rest my head on his chest and I thought about what this would look like to a casual observer. It was a position for lovers, tired after a long day, snuggled up after dinner in front of the telly.

Boys had never been the first thing on my mind, I had dated a little but mostly the local lads treated me like one of them so I was never prime dating material. I was always first choice for a pick-up game of cricket or football, not a date, I'd left the dating to Ella. Even at uni I was too focused on school to really date much though I'd had a few first dates that had mostly ended in friendship. I'd always been more comfortable around boys than girls.

I had gone back to uni briefly after the accident at my aunt's urging, not realizing that she was using my absence to steal from me. While I was there I'd had a very good friend, David, who realized that I wasn't holding up as well as I was working hard to make everyone believe. I'd needed something more than the friendly comfort I'd been getting from so many others and he'd been wonderfully obliging one night when I'd fallen apart on him and told him I couldn't seem to feel anything anymore. We'd dated for a few months after that but by then I'd found out what my aunt had been up to and I left school without ever obtaining the advanced degree that I had desired. David and I had kept in touch but we were more suited for friendship than a relationship. He married about nine months ago, shortly before Ben came into my life.

I hadn't been lying when I told John that I felt my feelings for Ben were platonic. I'd of course entertained the fairy tale of more but with all the work that still went into the farm and caring for a strange man, the feelings were shoved aside. By the time I could've taken them out to analyze them again we were so entrenched in each others lives and habits that it felt like he'd always been there and I was too happy with the way things were to imagine that there could be more. But laying here on the floor of the cottage that been like a giant play house for me, where I'd dreamed of my future, of love, my head resting over the heart of my dearest friend, that impossible handsome and just plain impossible man, I knew that it would be near impossible for me to find someone to fill that gap, the one he had so meticulously carved to fit only his exact shape. I gently wrapped my arm around his waist and returned to my former position, willing the sun to not rise (but knowing it must) as I shut my eyes.

It didn't feel like enough for what I was thinking of as our last night but I'd never be able to cram every conversation I'd imagined us having throughout what I'd begun to think of as our life into a single night. Every adventure (dull by his former standards) that I'd expected us to have, realizing now that I had not planned for a future that didn't include him, would never come to be. So maybe it was better this way, a night of silence, indulging in the one night that I was being permitted to have this fantasy, before he returned to his former life and I did what I do best.

Stay behind.

**Well, I hope that was worth the wait, it was a pretty personal chapter for me to write, touching on a few things I'm currently going through. Reviews are always loved and appreciated!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry this chapter took so long. I rewrote it about five times. There were aspects of it in the first few drafts that I felt I was rushing and I'm not quite ready for this to be over in a few chapters so I'm gonna drag it out as long as possible. Sorry if chapters get a bit shorter after this, I'm trying to keep pace though! Happy reading!**

**Chapter 6**

As predicted, the sun did rise and woke me early. We were still comfortably sprawled on the floor but where I was used to rising early, obviously he did not feel the same and was still deeply asleep. I thought about what the next few days would bring, emotionally speaking, before realizing that in light of everything that had gone on yesterday, I had completely neglected my duties on the farm, as Bastian had implied the day before.

With a sigh I extricated myself from under Ben's arm and stood up, tiptoeing to the kitchen. Leaving him a short note, telling him where I was heading, I slipped quietly from the cottage. A quick jog up to the main house and a shower and I was feeling slightly more myself and determined to put this whole memory business out of my mind while I worked. The house was silent so I knew John was still asleep so I left him a similar note before slipping back out of the house.

I began the familiar walk down to the barn. It had been built to hold farming equipment but when we had made the transition to more efficient machines we had had another barn built closer to the fields. This barn remained though and on the Christmas when I was 18 my father had surprised my sister and I with the one thing I think every little girl always dreamed of: a pair of Appaloosa ponies. My mother had been raised on a horse-breeding farm in America and she had suggested that horses would be a good way to get around the expanding farm and an excellent responsibility for my sister and I. Ella had taken the task of naming very seriously and named her pony Charlotte while I decided to go with the unimaginative Freckles for my spotted horse. We had converted the old barn into two stables for them and they were a constant source of pleasure for us and, since the loss of my family, of comfort.

I walked into the musty barn and heard the rustling to my left; a snort of air and a large spotted head was over the side door, staring at me as if to say "where on earth have you been, missy?"

I reached up with two hands (one carrying the bribe of an apple) and stroked the soft neck.

"Hello, my love. I'm terribly sorry that I missed our visit yesterday. How about a nice run this morning and you forgive me, hmm?"

Another snort and a head toss but she took the apple. I saddled her quickly, the movements smooth and second nature after so many years and as I led her from the stall another spotted head peaked over. I reached out with another apple and stroked Charlotte's head.

"I'll be back for you this afternoon, darling. You need a good run as well."

Much more understanding than her sister, Charlotte gave me a gentle nudge with her head before going back into the stall to munch.

I leapt smoothly into the saddle and Freckles and I set off at a trot. As we went I remembered the first time I had tried to get Ben on a horse. He had studied it for about 20 minutes before scrambling up in the first ungraceful move I'd seen him make onto Charlotte's back. After an hour of hysteria (on my part) and a comical lack of balance (on his) we had decided that the effort was fruitless and now his interactions with the horses was while both feet were planted firmly on the ground. He enjoyed being around them but lacked any and all desire to ever have one beneath him.

As we rode between fields and along the river I waved or called out to some of the men who had already begun working. They all responded with a wave or a shout back. As I approached the far end of our property some fifteen minutes later I spotted Bastian's truck. I had decided he deserved a bit of an apology. I shouldn't have been as short with him as I'd been the day before.

Bringing the horse to a halt I slipped out of the saddle and approached the sounds of hammering. Bastian was kneeling beside another of the hands, Daniel, as he held up a plank of wood. Daniel turned a cheerful smile on me.

"Hey, boss! Coupla' broken posts, me and Baz were just fixin' 'em up."

"Thanks, Danny. Bastian, could I have a word?"

Danny turned curious eyes onto Bastian who had so far avoided really looking at me, with a grunt a nod he passed the hammer to Danny before following me a bit away from prying ears.

"Yes, boss?" he said, his tone devastatingly formal.

"Look, Bastian, I shouldn't have been so short with you yesterday. It was incredibly rude of me. You were concerned for the farm and I took it as an attack on my handling of personal matters and I shouldn't have. You've had the best interests of the farm in mind since you got here and I really appreciate all the work you've done."

He relaxed a fraction and nodded. "You're a good boss, Moira. You're fair and you know all the men and you don't let anyone walk all over you. And you've lost a great deal in your life and have had people you thought you could trust betray you. I just don't want to see it happen again."

"I think I understand that now. I forget that what happened here three years ago is public knowledge sometimes. But I know what I'm doing with Ben. And with John. It's a very complicated situation and it's a stressful one. Hopefully it will be resolved soon but I don't know. It may never be resolved. But right now they both need my help and it helps me to know that while I sort it out that the farm is in good hands. I just need you to trust me alright?"

He took a breath. "Alright. You have my trust. But I'm holding judgment on the other two. You're an innocent, Moira. And in this world a great many innocents come to bad ends. I'd hate to see that happen to you."

He turned and walked back towards Danny, leaving me with a cryptic warning that I couldn't even begin to interpret and a strange sense of warning humming under my skin. All of which I foolishly dismissed. I walked back to my horse and vaulted into the saddle.

"What do you say, girl? Ready for a run up to the house?"

I wheeled her back in the direction we'd come and pressed gently on her sides and off we ran.

As we got closer to the house I could make out a figure on the porch. It was too short for Ben so I gave a wave and a shout out to John as we approached. He came down the back steps as I dismounted.

"You have a horse."

I gave him a smile. "Two, actually. My sister's and mine. This is Freckles."

Clearly a man comfortable around horses, John reached up and gave her a pat. "She's lovely. I used to love to ride as a boy. Haven't been in ages though."

"Well, you're welcome to use her or Charlotte any time you like while you're here. They're just down in the old barn."

He continued to stroke Freckles who seemed to sigh in pleasure at the male attention. I laughed. "That's so weird, she never looks that happy around Ben."

John's hand stilled for a moment. "You're still calling him 'Ben.'"

I sighed. "I think, until he's Sherlock again, he'll be 'Ben' to me. Maybe he always will."

"Did you tell him? How you feel?"

I led Freckles to the back porch and looped her reins around the post so she could munch on grass. "No."

"Why?"

"Because I don't even know how I feel for one. And for another, it would be a kind of bribe, wouldn't it? And I WANT him to remember who he was. Not that I don't love who he is now, not that who he is now isn't special because I can tell you that he most certainly is…but the talents he has, the gifts…it would be wrong to let those fall aside just so I could keep him here with me. And who knows, maybe he'll be able to hold onto Ben somehow. Maybe he can be both."

We both stood in silence a moment, knowing that sweet, soft, not-emotionally-blocked Ben wouldn't stand a chance against the strong, brilliant, necessarily-cold Sherlock Holmes.

"Come on into the house, he should be up in a bit and if not I'll give him a ring. We never did get breakfast yesterday so we're all going to eat and then we're going to start sorting this out.

About a half hour later I was putting the last of the toast in a basket when Ben groggily walked into the kitchen. He hadn't been awake, as I'd expected, so I'd had to ring down to the cottage and his sleepy voice came over the line.

"'Lo?"

"Breakfast is on, why don't you head on up?"

"Mmm, k."

And he'd hung up.

He rubbed sleep blearily from his eyes as he walked in and sat down, he looked at John briefly, eyes wildly unfocused, before folding his arms on the table and lowering his head onto them and shut his eyes.

"John. Tea."

John and I both froze at the murmured order. John's heart appeared to have stopped as he stared at the bowed head and I was certain that everyone in a 10km radius could hear mine. It had been said in a tone I'd never heard Ben use before, an order given so carelessly, with the authority of someone who knew it would be followed. No one moved for a full minute or more.

John took a hesitant step forward. "Sherlock?" he said softly.

No reply.

"Sherlock," he tried again. Still nothing.

A deep inhale told me what the problem was.

"He fell back to sleep," I said softly. I crossed to Ben and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle rub. "Come on now. Up you get. You've slept long enough," I murmured.

He mumbled something else and sighed before opening less blurry eyes. "Sorry, more tired than I thought, I guess," he said sleepily.

"It's alright, do you remember what you were saying?"

"I said something?"

From the corner of my eye I saw John's eyes close, the blossoming hope dying. "You asked for tea, would you like some?"

"Yes, please." I gave his hair an affectionate stroke as I turned back towards the stove where John stood. I put a hand on his arm and squeezed. He turned to look at me and it was like he'd just watched the jump again, that was how hurt his eyes were. "I'm sorry," I mouthed. He shut his eyes and shook his head. I stepped closer and spoke quickly, as quietly as I could.

"He's in there, John. Your Sherlock. He is. He just needs some convincing to come out is all."

I took the tea back over to the table and after a moment John followed. Breakfast was silent and when we were done an awkward silence descended. Time to shatter it.

"Ben, John's written something I think you need to read."

Ben looked at me, warily, curiously. "What is it?"

"It's your adventures together, the cases. It might help jog something in your memory."

His eyes flicked back and forth between us and I could see the worry. "Moira, I don't know-"

"It's alright, I've read it. It's brilliant, honestly. John was angry yesterday, that's why he said what he did, but this wasn't angry, this was…awe. You were-are-amazing. You had this amazing gift for observing everything around you. You helped so many people. I really think you should read it." I looked at John, held my hand out expectantly. He hesitated a moment before passing me the journal beside him. Ben watched the movement of the journal with skittish eyes. I held it out to him. "You take it outside, you sit on the porch and you read, take your time, take all day if you need it. We'll be here to answer whatever questions you have or talk about whatever you want to, alright?"

He didn't take the book from me, just looked at me with wide, pleading eyes.

I put the journal down and stood up, walking around to stand in front of him, taking his face in my hands. "Hey. You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me now. I think this will help."

He took a deep breath before nodding. I picked up the journal and put it in his hands. "Go on."

He stood up slowly, looking at both of us again, before walking out the back door and onto the porch and settling in a lounger.

I sat back down next to John.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Now, we wait."

John and I kept close to the back porch that day and Ben largely ignored us. I'd seen him read books three times as long in half the time it seemed to have taken him to read half of the journal but I was sure, given the rapt concentration on his face, that he was trying to absorb as much as possible. I'd run down to the porch to grab Charlotte and John and I walked both horses around, chatting about nothing in particular, keeping an eye on the still figure sitting in the shadows of the porch.

"He keeps turning pages back," John noticed finally.

"What do you mean?"

"Whichever part he's reading, he keeps rereading. Turn a page, turn back a page, turn a page, turn back. Over and over."

"What part do you think it is?"

John shrugged.

"I'll be right back." I went back into the house for a moment and made Ben a fresh cup of tea. As I went to place it on the little table beside his chair I heard him mumbling.

"Ben?"

He ignored me, his eyes flicking over the page like mad, mumbling faster and faster.

"John. John!"

John sprinted towards the stairs as I took Ben's face in my hands again. "Ben. Ben. Answer me."

His eyes flickered over my face, never still and when John came into view they moved to him and the mumbling came through clearer.

"Gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer…"

"What is he saying? John? John?" John was staring at Ben, eyes wide.

"The pool," he whispered.

"What?"

"The pool. At the pool that night. With the bomb vest and Moriarty. That's what he made me say. It's a ventriloquists trick to say 'bottle of beer' without moving your mouth for the 'b,'" he said quickly, eyes fixed on Ben's flickering eyes.

"I don't remember that part."

"I didn't write it down…" he said so softly I barely heard him.

"What?"

"I didn't write that part down. In the journal. I didn't write it."

We both stared at Ben as he continued to mumble. Curious phrases that were hard to understand but the few we managed to make out were 'thought you might call', 'big bad world', 'little game of ours', 'what people do', 'shown your hand', and 'burn you.' The last he repeated several times before falling silent and his eyes slipped closed. Without looking at John I knew that those were all from that same night at the pool, and not a single one of them had been written in the journal.

"What the hell was that, Moira? What the hell was that?"

"I don't know," I said as I sat gently beside the now still body on the lounge. "But I _think_ he might remember more than we think."

"What do you mean?"

"More tea," I said, taking Ben's hand in mine.

"What?"

"I told you. Whenever he overworks and gets sick, when he's feverish, he asks for more tea. Just that, over and over. More tea. I don't think he was saying 'more tea.'"

He looked at me in confusion for a moment before understanding lit in his eyes. "Oh."

"Yea. Not 'more tea.' Moriarty."

**Well, I hope you all liked that one. I really enjoyed this chapter, I got to watch The Great Game for the millionth time to decide which snippets of Moriarty dialogue to slip in. Next chapter hopefully won't take as long! Reviews are loved! **


	7. Chapter 7

**This chapter is a little on the short side, I know where I want to go next but if I had put them together this would've been an enormous chapter and I'm getting tired so my apologies for this shortness of this chapter. I will hopefully have the next chapter up sometime this week. We switch perspectives at one point in this chapter and I'm planning a couple more switches in the future, I've liked telling this from Moira's perspectives but other people's POVs are going to become important, though primarily it will still be from Moira's POV. Well, here's the chapter. Please enjoy!**

**Chapter 7**

I walked back out onto the porch with two mugs of tea, I passed one to John as I walked over to the chair where Ben was still sleeping. As he had been for the last hour.

"I called Dr. Fletcher," I said. "He was the one who examined him right after we found him, diagnosed the amnesia. He was a doctor in a major hospital in Birmingham before he decided he was tired of the city and opened a small practice here about 5 years ago, he's in the process of retiring now. I don't really know what the town's going to do. The next closest general doctor is two towns away, which is frightfully inconvenient. Anyway, he'd seen a lot of head injuries and I trusted his judgment and at the time Ben…Sherlock…wasn't really fit for travel with the pneumonia."

"What did he say," John asked softly. Eyes fixed on the sleeping figure in front of us.

"He said it's a good sign that he was recalling parts of conversations that he hadn't been told about or read before."

"I hear a 'but.'"

"But…the fit he had…is _not_ a good sign. It could be too much for his brain. Pushing him too hard too quickly could do more harm than good."

John sighed and let his head hang.

"He did this in the beginning. Not quite as bad but…similar."

His head came up again. "What do you mean?"

"During the worst of the fever. He would babble, shout, it was actually more physical than this, I thought he was seizing half the time. I practically had to lie on top of him to keep him still. But his words weren't as coherent. No full phrases, just garbled words, half the time I couldn't even understand it. And I was too focused on trying to calm him to try to remember what he said."

I moved from where I'd been leaning on the porch railing to sit beside Ben, taking his left hand that lay across his stomach. "He'd always sleep like this after an episode. Deep and long. He didn't remember when he woke up."

"We're done with this."

I turned to see John's face, set and decided. "What do you mean?"

"We're done. You were right. He's not my Sherlock anymore. My Sherlock is gone. He may not have died when he jumped off that building but he's dead now. And I won't watch whomever he is now suffering just because I want a few answers. Sod me. Sod the world. He's _happy_ here. Maybe happier than he's ever been when there wasn't a serial killer for him to chase down. He's done more than enough for the people of this world and half of them called him a freak for what he could do. Here he's appreciated. He's bloody _loved_."

"John-"

"No, Moira. We're done. It's done." He stood up and started walking back into the house.

"Where are you going? You can't just leave!" I called after him frantically.

"I'm not." He turned to face me. "I'm going inside to call the job I've hated in the city I've been miserable in for the last two years and I'm quitting. Your town just got a new general doctor."

I gaped at him. "You're…you're _moving_ here?"

He turned fierce eyes on Ben. "I lost my best friend once. I'd like the chance to get to know who he is now."

He looked over at me. "You're going to have to share, Moira," he said, a small smile crinkling his mouth, teasing in his voice.

"John," I said, and I could hear the tears filling my eyes.

"Moira," came a murmur to our right. Both our heads swung around to see Ben blinking sleepily up at us. "What happened?"

I looked over at John. "Nothing. You read the journal and you must've dozed off."

He opened and shut his bleary eyes. "I was talking…did I talk?"

I hesitated. "A little…"

"What did I say? Did I…did I remember anything?" He looked fearful. I despised myself at that moment. For pushing him so hard, for thinking of all the things he could do for the world and not thinking enough of him.

"No. At least nothing that made much sense. Just a dream I think. You said something about wanting to try horseback riding again."

His brows drew down. "That had to have been a dream. Nothing could ever tempt me to attempt that embarrassment again."

I gave John a bright smile. "You really should've seen it, John. Absolutely priceless. I've always regretted the lack of a camera."

John smiled at the pair of us. "I'm very sorry I missed it."

Ben scowled at us before slowly reaching for the journal again. "I guess…I should read some more, see if anything triggers."

I covered his hand. "Wait a minute. We wanted to ask you something. Something we realized we haven't done the last couple days."

He looked at our joined hands a moment. "What?"

"Is this what you want? To remember? Or do you want to put this aside and just…live the life you've made here?"

He looked between us, confused. "But…but you said, the people I helped…"

"I know. I know what I said. And I was wrong. Wrong to push you. Wrong to tell you what you needed to do. I thought…you deserved more. To have back the exciting life you used to have instead of being stuck up here in the country with me. And I guess I was scared. Scared of being alone again so I wanted it over sooner rather than later. But I should've been thinking about you and what you wanted and I want to know what you want now. We both do."

He looked at the journal. "I can just…forget about this? Carry on as we have been?"

"If it's what you want," John said gently.

"But…what about you? You deserve to know why I…did what I did."

He walked forward and put a hand on my shoulder. "Moira told me something a few nights ago that I don't think I ever really thought about before. She said that it seemed to her like you would only have done what you did if you were trying to protect me. You could be cold, but you were never really cruel. And only to people who deserved it. Never to me. That's enough for me."

"Really?" There was relief in his voice and I felt my heart twist. How could I have pushed him when he obviously didn't want this?

"Really. Though I do want to talk to you about something else."

"Of course."

"I would very much like it if we could be friends. And I've been, well, to be honest, completely miserable in London since, well…since. And Moira mentioned that the general doctor is retiring and I was thinking of…relocating. Moira has been a wonderful friend to me and I'd like to see more of her and…I'd really like the chance to get to know you as well."

A slow smile bloomed on Ben's face. "I would like that very much." He squeezed the hand I was still holding and held out his right hand to John.

"Ben," he said simply.

John reached out to shake his hand. "John."

"Oh, damnit. That's done it," I said before throwing and arm around each of their necks and laughing through my tears.

SJMSJMSJM

Well-hidden several hundred yards away, a figure lowered binoculars and turned down the volume on the listening device in his ear. The range and clarity of the microscopic microphones that had been installed throughout the farm and its property made him glad for his forethought in preparing for this final mission. Though he felt the rage swell at the overheard conversation.

It would not do to punish a man by taking away those he loved when he couldn't even remember them. The others assigned to this mission had been removed from play, brutally, he recalled but their targets no longer mattered. This target, this most important target was the one that had really mattered. The one that would have done the most damage. But while he was well-known for his patience, after 2 years, even the strongest man's patience wears thin and he had no intention of just waiting around for the doctor to become someone of importance. He could remove the girl, he thought, she mattered, but he suspected she mattered more than the former great detective could admit. _That_ he could wait for…if he had to. Wait for the unacknowledged feelings to bubble up. Or. He could give them a bit of a push. And have a bit of fun while he was at it.

SJMSJMSJM

After both men had awkwardly tried to comfort me through my tears we were all still sitting around on the porch. Ben looked over at me as I glanced for the first time in many minutes out at the fields.

"You have to go work."

"I've got time."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't. But I'm the boss, it's alright."

"It will eat you alive if you don't go. Go ahead, we're fine here."

I looked between them, biting my lip. "You sure?"

He rolled his eyes and looked at John. "She's a regular mother hen, I swear. Always clucking around."

"I do not cluck!"

"Yes, you do. Now go. We'll see you later."

John was chuckling and Ben was grinning at me and I could not remember feeling quite so hopeful in so long. "Why don't we go into town tonight? I'll get some of the other lads as well. We'll make it a pub night. We haven't been in a few weeks. John can meet some of the locals, Dr. Fletcher usually has dinner there a couple nights a week, you can talk to him about the practice if you're serious about it."

"Should probably find out about a place to stay as well. Sounds great though."

I hesitated on the steps. "Well…you could always stay here. I mean. It's not like I don't have the room."

He stared at me. "Moira. That's…an incredibly generous offer but I couldn't-"

"I'm asking. If you want to work out something with rent or something, we will but…I'd like it very much if you stayed. It's…nice having people around." I nodded at Ben. "This one's taken the cottage so it's just me up here a fair bit of the time and…I don't mind the company. Just…think about it, yea?"

I gave him a quick, nervous smile before walking down the back steps. "I'll see you two later, try not to get into any mischief!" I called to them as I walked down the path away from the house, away from their stares and towards what was going to be a long day's work.

**Well, I hope that was worth it, again my apologies for the length. The beginning of the next chapter, if all goes as planned will pick up immediately after this with what the boys are thinking before I go back to Moira. Hope you're all enjoying this, I've got a few summer program deadlines coming up so that's been taking a lot of my attention the last couple days but once those are all done I'll be back to hopefully getting more of this story out sooner! Reviews are loved!**


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter has quite a few POV switches, all of which I marked. I'm sorry this took so long, things around here have been INSANE. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Chapter 8**

**John's POV**

I watched Moira hurry off towards the barn, a nervous smile on her face.

Live here? With her and-

I turned my head to look at him. He was frowning after Moira, as if as puzzled by her offer as I was but the look in his eyes was sad.

"I worry about her," he said simply.

"Oh?" I asked as casually as possible.

"Mmm. She acts like she's got it all together. I wonder if she really does."

At this point, my Sherlock would've launched into dozens of different theories. But this new Sherlock, Ben as he and she called him, just continued to frown with that worried look in his eyes. Something I'd never seen in my Sherlock.

"She means a great deal to you."

He turned his head to look at me. "Yes, she does. I don't wish to see her hurt again. Losing her family nearly destroyed her, if one chooses to believe what the people in town say. She was a ghost for months, her aunt," he snarled, and I was taken aback by the ferocity, "came to 'take care of things' while she tried to deal with the impossible loss and then stole from her and disappeared. She rallied but I wonder sometimes what it cost her to shunt her grief aside to do what she had to for the farm and everyone on it."

It was the most incredibly sensitive and insightful things that had ever passed from that mouth. I was sure of it.

"She takes care of people," I said softly.

"But neglects herself?" he asked and frowned back out to the fields, though we could no longer see her.

"So, ah, you have…feelings for her?"

He tensed, minutely, but even if he wasn't my Sherlock anymore, I still knew him better than anyone. Or nearly anyone.

"That would be remarkably foolish."

That wasn't the answer I had been expecting. "Why? She's lovely, she's kind, she's smart, funny. If it were possible for someone to be perfect, I'd say she comes damn close."

"She is. She is all those things. She also saved my life, nursed me back from death, watched over me like a mother bird over blind newborns. I'm like some lost dog she found on her doorstep."

"You don't really believe that."

He hesitated for a moment before looking at me. "No. No, I don't. It's what I have to tell myself. Because to consider the alternative would be…disastrous."

I leaned forward in my chair, eager for the first time in days to see a side to the man I had known that I hadn't seen before.

"Why would it have to be?"

He looked down at his hands. "I don't know. I suspect, now that I know the truth, that it has something to do with…him."

"Him?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

It was bizarre to hear him refer to himself that way. As if he was a stranger to himself, which, I suppose, he was.

"What makes you say that?"

"It's always felt wrong. In my head. The times I could've told her that there was something…stirring. The dinners, the nightmares, the late night film marathons. But there was always this voice, in my head, saying no. That I was wrong. I wasn't good enough. I would leave her, crush her, crush out that light that she's always fighting to keep burning because I was damaged, I couldn't give her everything she deserved. So I kept quiet and we fell into our rhythm and I shut it out. The voice. His voice, I think."

I sat there, stunned, amazed, heart-broken at the…emotion. I had seen my Sherlock fake tears for suspects, I had seen him afraid, furious, exhilarated…but never this…this…hopeless longing. I'd imagined, at one time, that there might be something between him and Irene Adler. She seemed exactly his type. If he'd had one. But Moira was as different from Irene Adler as the moon and the sun. Where Irene was brilliant, stunning, full of heat and energy, Moira was bright, soft, calm, and didn't overpower everything around her but shared it as the moon did with the stars and was made all the lovelier for it. And that was what drew in the man beside me. Not that flash and burn, but a rock-steady and thoroughly enchanting heart.

"You were never undeserving. Sherlock was never undeserving. No matter what the voice told you. He was incredibly human without even realizing it. I know no one who deserved more happiness than he did."

"I…He…was alone? He had no one? Like that?"

"No one that I knew of. And if anyone would've known it was me. He was…restless. I think maybe he just needed that one person who would settle him. Calm that racing brain and, though he'd have disagreed, depthless heart. I think you've found her."

He looked at me, he wasn't as schooled as Sherlock was in keeping his emotions in check and I saw the hope bloom there. "You think so?"

"I do. Maybe you should tell her. Now that you've decided to stay Ben, that voice can't hurt you now."

He stared off into the fields but this time his eyes had unfocused and I knew he wasn't really looking at them.

"I could…tonight, maybe…yes…tonight…"

He murmured to himself, seeming to forget I was there, something that felt disturbingly like old times and though I felt my heart clench from missing my friend, I couldn't help but smile fondly as a near giddy light filled my companion's eyes.

**Moira's POV**

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us tonight, Baz? All the lads are coming, the farm will be empty." I was once again trying to convince Bastian to socialize with the other hands. It's not that he was anti-social, just that he liked his privacy and worked best in silence. He was friendly enough with the other men but none of them could really claim to know much about him.

"I'll be fine, Moira, just going to stay in, read a little. Might check in on those horses of yours a bit later, they're beauties and I haven't been 'round horses since I was boy. If you don't mind of course."

"Of course not, they both love the attention. Well, if you're sure then I suppose I'll just see you in the morning then," I said with a sigh and turned to leave.

"Oh, Moira! I nearly forgot. Danny had to run out in a hurry. His girl's gone into labor early it seems."

I turned back, concerned. "Jenny? She's not due for another month, I thought. I hope she's alright."

"He didn't seem worried. Just took off running. He dropped his mobile on the way. I tried to catch him but he was going so fast I couldn't." He held out Danny's phone to me and I took it and dropped it into the pocket of my sweater.

"Poor thing, must be going crazy. I'll hang onto it 'til he gets back."

"Your, ah, boys going into town tonight as well?" He said cautiously.

"Yea. I think a night out is what everyone needs."

"You all have fun. See you in the morning," he said as he walked off to direct another group of hands who were packing up for the day. I shook my head at his retreating back. He was entirely too hard a nut to crack.

It was several hours after I'd left John and Ben back up at the house and the sun was beginning to set. I found John roughly where I'd left him, only he'd obviously showered and dressed in a comfy-looking, black and white striped sweater. He gave me a slow smile which I returned as I climbed the back steps.

"Good day?"

"Very. We hauled in quite a bit, and some of it's already off to some of the local restaurants and market."

"Not too tired? We don't have to go out if you're not up for it."

"Oh, I'm up for it. A good night out is what we all need. And a good day out there leaves me more energized than tired. Don't think you're getting out of dancing with me tonight, Doctor Watson."

The tips of his ears flushed. "I, ah, am not much of a dancer."

I gave him my cheekiest smile. "Well, you're going to have to learn. You can't leave it all to poor Ben, I think I wore him out last time."

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped, comically. "You got him to dance?"

"Sure, he's actually a fair dancer. Though, I'm afraid he's not so quick with the step-dancing."

"You step-dance?"

"My gran was Irish, John. I might as well have been born singing and tapping my feet. Usually after a round or two the other lads talk me into performing a bit."

He grinned at me. "I should like to see that."

"See what?"

We both turned to see Ben, or at least what we assumed was Ben, in his bee-keeping suit, helmet included, obscuring his face.

"Me, showing off tonight?"

He tugged off the helmet. "If you're talking about the step-dancing, I refuse to attempt that again. I nearly landed on my face last time."

"The operative word being 'nearly.'" He'd shaved though some of the scruff remained, giving him a rakish look and I felt the increasingly familiar clutch in my stomach. "Well, you look presentable at last. You've been looking like a ragamuffin the last couple of days."

He scowled at me. "And you look like you've been rolling around in dirt and falling out of trees all day."

I grinned cheerfully as I stood. "Because I have! But I won't in about thirty minutes. You finish up whatever you're doing and I'll meet you two back here then and we'll head down, the other lads are meeting us there."

I normally never fuss with my appearance, I'm perfectly happy in comfortable jeans and a jumper but at uni I had gotten some experience with nightlife and had discovered the pleasure in getting dressed up on occasion. My hair is generally bound into a braid to keep it out of the way while working. Naturally curly and loose after my shower, I looked a great deal like my mother, something I'd always been proud of. Anticipating the night ahead, I grabbed my shoes and hurried downstairs to meet the boys.

**Ben/Sherlock's POV**

Dr. Watson-John and I waited on the porch for Moira to join us before heading off into town. I couldn't recall the last time I was so nervous. John's words had been in my head all day.

Maybe I should tell her.

I hadn't been lying when I told him about the voice. The voice telling me that I wouldn't be enough for her. It always seemed to spring up in those moments when I felt closer to Moira than I could ever imagine being to another person.

I had heard it for the first time in a long time the night before. It was near the end of _Strangers on a Train_ and I realized Moira had fallen asleep on my shoulder. She had curled into my side like a child and my heart had clenched. Almost immediately the voice broke in.

'_Oh no, she's much too good for you. Too pure. Too whole. Too special. You're __**ordinary**__. How could she ever love you? Ordinary you.'_

The voice spoke to me like a disappointed parent to a not too bright child.

There were plenty of other logical reasons to not tell her what I was feeling. I was quite a bit older than her, could often forget myself and get caught up in whatever got my attention, Christ, I'd forgotten her birthday just a couple of months before. In what way could I possibly be good for her and the voice just reaffirmed it. But, if John had given me any indication, it was not impossible that my feelings wouldn't be returned.

I had been so sure she felt nothing but simple friendship for me, we had an easy, familiar relationship, very nearly like siblings but over the last few days as more and more about my past came out, I saw her the fear and misery she was trying to hide. I had thought it was just fear of losing another person, but it was a fear of losing me, of me not being the person she'd come to know. And her relief when I decided that I would no longer try to recover my memories had given me hope. John's encouragement to tell her, poorly banked excitement in his friendly blue eyes, had only inflamed it. I would be lying if the thought didn't give me an overwhelming feeling of joy.

"Quit standing around, you two! We're wasting the moonlight!"

John and I both turned at her voice and I seemed to go temporarily deaf. I'd seen her in a dress before, of course, but never had she radiated such obvious happiness. Her hair hung wavy and loose to the middle of her back and against the dark green of her dress with her bare feet she looked like some wood nymph mid-romp through the forest. I must've stayed frozen longer then I'd thought because she was balancing on one foot, her hand on John's arm as she pulled on her shoes while John looked from me to her, grinning foolishly.

I felt warmth spread to my face and I walked over to the closet to pull out the coats. I tossed John his, which he caught smoothly, as though it were a familiar ritual and I saw him start before he shook off the impact of the moment. I handed Moira her coat before pulling out my own and a scarf. As I looped it around my neck I caught John staring.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Um. Your, ah, your scarf."

Moira looked curiously at the object around my neck. "Yes," she said. "It was in his pocket when we found him."

John's blank face went sad. "It was yours. From before. You were wearing it…that day and when I went to collect your personal effects…it was gone. I always thought some nosy reporter had gotten in and stolen it somehow. But I guess…"

"I took it with me," I finished. And the silence that descended upon us was awkward.

Moira took a deep breath before reaching out and taking each of us by an arm. "Come along, now we definitely need a drink." And she pulled us out the door.

**Moira's POV**

For a town our size, there wasn't much on nightlife. But a regular spot was O'Toole's, a lovely pub owned and run by my father's best friend from childhood who I affectionately referred to as Uncle Jack. I'd called down earlier in the day to let him know I'd be bringing the whole lot down and it had only taken a few phone calls on his end for the night out to become a party.

By the time we arrived a group of local men had gotten their band set up and playing and it appeared that everyone in town was crowded into booths or at tables or at the bar. The crowd was so massive that Uncle Jack had had to open up the back, something usually only required at the height of summer, fortunately it was a warm night.

I had to admit I was about three fingers of whiskey for the worse at this point and had a second glass of Harp on the way. Currently, I was being twirled around the dance floor by Mr. Williams', who was 75 if he was a day but who had two of the quickest feet around and often was still dancing when I could no longer feel my feet. John, I could see, was currently deep in conversation with Dr. Fletcher and they were both smiling, which I took as a good sign. I had lost sight of Ben somewhere along the way.

As the song wound down, Mr. Williams' spun me out and I shut my eyes to enjoy the twirl and found myself caught up in a pair of longer, stronger arms. I blinked slowly and found Ben staring down at me.

"Well, hello, you. And where did you disappear to?"

He frowned at me. "Are you drunk?"

I smiled. "I would be a sad excuse for a one-half Irish woman if three fingers of whiskey and a glass of beer did me in. I'm alright, just wonderfully buzzed. All that twirling out there did worse for my poor head."

The music had slowed and somehow I had missed that he was moving us around the floor in a waltz. The last three hours of dancing and laughter and conversation caught up with me and I took a moment to just revel in the soft music and having my weight supported. Being that we were only a few inches off in height, and even fewer in my heels, I was able to comfortably rest my chin on his shoulder. I shut my eyes and sighed.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No. No, everything is so wonderfully right. You're you, John is coming to stay, the farm is doing wonderful. What more could I ask for?"

He inhaled sharply and his grip on my waist tightened. I leaned back to look at him and he was looking over my shoulder, not really seeing what was there for a moment before he looked at me. The tightness in my stomach was back, full force. I'd never seen that look in his eyes before, determined and hopeful and afraid and…wanting.

"Moira, I-"

"Moira!" We jerked apart at the call from the other side of the dance floor. Uncle Jack was leaning out the back door. "Phone for you! Sounds important!"

I looked back at Ben who was scowling, the tightening was like fluttering now, a thousand wings fluttering. "I'll be right back. Whatever…whatever you were about to say…you're going to finish saying it as soon as I can get rid of whoever dared to call just now. Ok?" A smile was spreading slowly onto my face.

He looked at me, nearly eye to eye before he shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against mine. "You have 60 seconds. Go."

A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped me as I ran for the pub door. At the doorway I looked back over my shoulder and he was standing where I'd left him, still smiling at me, and he mouthed 'fifty.'

I sprinted for the phone, Uncle Jack kept it behind the bar, in a corner out of the way of the customers.

"Yes, hello?"

"Miss Moira Holloway?" a woman asked.

"Yes?"

"This is the Evesham Fire Station. We're responding to a call made from your place of residence a few minutes ago by one of your farm hands."

"A fire? At my farm?"

"Yes, ma'am. From what we could gather before we lost contact with your hand it's rather large, we're sending as many men as we can to your farm and calling reserves from the neighboring towns. Your hand told us to contact you here and then we lost contact."

"Bastian. Bastian was at the farm." I must've sounded like a fool, why couldn't I move?

"Miss?

"Yes?"

The woman on the other line, whose voice had been firm and professional, had softened. "Miss, I think you should get to your home as quickly as you can. The fire department is already on route but keep a safe distance away until they arrive."

"Right. Right, of course. Thank you."

I hung up the phone in a daze and sank onto the bench beside the phone.

"Moira? Moira, everything ok?"

Uncle Jack's voice came through the haze like an echo and suddenly his face was close to mine. "Moira, love. What is it? What's happened?"

"Fire."

"Fire? Where?"

Everything around me became unbearably sharp very quickly. "Fire. At the farm. I have to go!" I pushed past him and ran for the door, shouting over my shoulder as I ran out into the night. "Tell the others!"

**Well, I hope that was a good read. I apologize for my handling of the fire department conversation. I'm not sure what the fire department is like in the UK but here I have the FDNY and I handled it, I guess, the same way I figured they would. This was a bit longer than my last few chapters. I'm looking forward to writing the next chapter, it was supposed to be part of this one but this one got a lot longer then I had intended but I'm happy with the result! Reviews are very appreciated!**


	9. Chapter 9

**I would like to dedicate this chapter to the AMAZING YourLoyalBlogger for making me the most awesome fanfiction cover ever. The link is provided on my profile page. There are some more shifting POVs in this chapter and I think they worked out really well under the circumstances of this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Moira's POV**

The drive to the farm was a blur, but for someone who'd probably gone well over the legal limit for alcohol I was incredibly focused. Is it possible for mind-numbing terror to purge alcohol from your body? Before I knew it the sky was turning strangely orange and my heart was in my throat. As I crested the last hill that came up just behind the back of my property I braked hard and heard the squeal of my tires.

The orchard was positively blazing. I couldn't see behind the wall of smoke and flames but I could see the house at the top of the hill and it remained untouched. My family home was safe. I took a single breath of relief before the grief at the loss of trees my grandparents had planted settled in. The orchards would be a loss to our income, of course, but there was little chance of it spreading to the other crops so the financial damage would not devastate us.

I slowly got back in the car, knowing I had beat the fire department by a good 5 to 10 minutes and drove more cautiously towards the house. As I drove I wondered what could have started it. The weather hadn't been terribly dry and either way the fire hadn't begun under the day's earlier sun. None of my men were permitted to smoke anywhere on the property. Local kids? A prank gone wrong?

As I approached the house, I saw the police car just parking in front. Inspector MacNamara stepped up to the window as I pulled in behind him.

"Moira," he said solemnly.

"Joe."

He gave me a sad smile. I'd known him my entire life, since he'd been a lowly officer on our small local police force. He'd been the one to come to tell me about my family.

"I've relayed with the fire department. They should be here within 5 minutes."

"The trees are gone, Joe. They won't have a great deal of work, the fire has nowhere to go." I sat weakly on the front porch and he sat beside me.

"I've sent a few of the lads down to keep an eye on it all the same, to look around, though after the small fire a few weeks ago at the Bramson's…"

I looked up. "I heard about that. Did you ever find out what happened?"

"We did actually. Mrs. Bramson was home at the time, saw a bunch of kids running away and the arson specialist found some cigarette butts at the source. She didn't recognize any of the kids so we're thinking it's out-of-towners just being stupid and not taking care to put them out after they dropped them."

I nodded. It was about as much as I'd figured. He touched my arm. "I'm gonna head down and see if my lads need any help. You stay put up here, alright? We'll meet the fire department down at the orchards and when it's done I'll come back up and talk to you, alright?"

I nodded. I could vaguely hear the whine of the fire engines coming from the direction of the road behind the house.

He got up, got in his car and headed back down towards the fields. I sat there another moment, listening to the whine of the engines before I frowned. Why wasn't the sound getting closer? They were nowhere near the orchards, was there another fire? There were no crops behind the house and down the hill, all that was back there was…

"No…"

I was up and running around the house before the thought had even fully registered. As I rounded the house I saw the soft pulsing orange glow coming from down the hill. I didn't even have the breath in my lungs to scream. The barn came into view as I reached the decline in the hill. This fire was smaller than the one in the trees but it was enough to have smoke oozing out of windows. As I ran down, I realized that the whining I'd been hearing hadn't been an engine at all, but the panicked cries of my horses that were still inside.

The crackling of breaking wood and glass was roaring in my ears as I got near the barn, I ran around to the large front doors and yanked hard on them, desperate to free what was behind them. The doors wouldn't budge.

"No, no, no…" These doors were never bolted. I never locked them. I ran to the side door and pulled, it wouldn't give. I reached for the keys that I kept beneath the flowerpot beside the door. The keys were gone.

"Jesus, no." I circled the barn, searching for another way in and stumbled over a large rock. The window in front of me was dark with smoke but I saw no fire near it. All the flames were pulsing out of the upper windows. The hay beds in the loft must've been set on fire.

I hauled up the rock and heaved it through the window.

**John's POV**

"Well, John. I have to tell you that I never expected when I came in here tonight that I'd be leaving a nearly retired man."

I grinned at the silver-haired man. "Thank you, Dr. Fletcher."

He waved me off. "Please, John. I should be thanking you. And you're doing me an enormous service. Call me Tom."

"Alright, you're welcome, Tom."

"So, now that business is out the of the way. Moira tells me you know her amnesiac friend." He gestured to the man standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching with rapt attention as Moira was being whirled about by an older gentleman who looked to be out-dancing even her impressively light feet.

The expression on his face made me smile. It was something between frustration and longing. "Yes. I knew him back in London. Several years ago."

"Incredible. They tried so hard to bring back his memories with no luck. Perhaps with you back he'll remember some things."

I grinned as Moira was spun directly into Ben's arms. It was getting easier to think of him as Ben. "He's actually decided to stop. He's made a life for himself here and found something that matters."

"Mmm. Yes, she's a lovely girl. I knew her father and grandfather. I was with her when she had to go down to identify her parents and sister. I've been a doctor for a great many years and I have to tell you I've never seen anything so devastating. They were a very close family."

"Her aunt was clearly not part of that," I commented as I saw Ben lead Moira into a waltz and she rested her head on his shoulder. Near blissful contentment covered his face.

"She most certainly was not. She'd lit out of the farm when she was 16. Didn't want any part of being a farm girl her whole life. It was beneath her you see. She took off for London to try and be a performer, she had a fair voice but she abused it horribly with drinking and smoking and worse, I'm sure, once she reached London. But when Mark, Cathy and Ella died, Moira had no family left and she came back clean and, we thought, sober. Was properly grieved, looked after Moira like a little lost duckling and we all thought, well, she's turned herself around. And then one morning she was gone, the money was gone, things had been stolen from the house, her mother's jewelry, her grandmother's, even some of hers and Ella's things."

"My God. What happened to her?" A shout from the pub had had Moira and Ben breaking apart.

"Never saw or heard from her again. The local police tried to get Moira to press charges-"

"She didn't press charges!"

"No. She was still grieving, hard. I don't think she could've handled it. She just pulled herself together, pulled out the books and got the farm back on track. Everything else was just things, she said. The farm was what mattered."

I watched Moira rush across the dance floor towards the pub door, a smile on her face before she stopped in the doorway and turned to look back at Ben who was grinning at her. He mouthed something that looked a bit like "fifty" and she dashed through the door.

"She's incredible."

"She is. Now, if you'll excuse me John, I think I'd best get home and tell the wife the good news. She'll be thrilled. Finally, I can let her talk me into the trip to Australia she's always wanted to take." He reached for my hand as he stood and we shook. I grabbed my beer and walked over to where Ben was still grinning stupidly towards the door.

"Did you tell her?"

He glanced at me. "Not yet. Was about to. Got interrupted." The disjointed sentences made my stomach tighten. It was very…Sherlock-like.

"Where'd she run off to?"

"Phone call." His attention was fixed on the door. "She has forty seconds."

I grinned. The two of us stood there for what felt like several minutes and I saw the frown begin on his face. "Something's wrong…" he said.

"I'm sure it's nothing," I started to say as Jack, the bartender came to the back door and grabbed two of Moira's farm hands and spoke quickly and urgently. The pair promptly ran out the door, grabbing a few of the other lads along the way. I didn't even realize Ben was beside me until I saw him talking to Jack. His face went white as I hurried over.

"What's wrong?"

He turned his pale face to me.

"Fire."

**Ben/Sherlock's POV**

I'd watched her dance with what felt like half the county while I hovered around the floor. She'd caught my eye a few times but every time she'd started towards me someone else spun her into a dance. Currently, she was being whipped around like a surprisingly graceful marionette by the old man who owned the local grocery.

I knew by the droop of her shoulders that she was starting to wear down and I knew we'd be leaving soon. If I was going to do what I planned to do I'd have to do it now. I moved into position so that when the man spun her out, I'd be in the way.

The solid weight of her filled my arms. She opened sleepy, dizzy eyes and I felt my heart skip.

"Well, hello, you. And where did you disappear to?" Her words weren't slurring but they were slower than normal.

"Are you drunk?" I asked with a frown. I couldn't tell her this while she was drunk."

She smiled lazily and cuddled closer into my arms. "I would be a sad excuse for a one-half Irish one if three fingers of whiskey and a glass of beer did me in. I'm alright, just wonderfully buzzed. All that twirling out there did worse for my poor head.

A waltz was playing. One of the few dances I felt surprisingly confident in, not that I knew how I knew the steps, so I moved us along to the music and she flowed along with me. Her chin was on my shoulder and she sighed.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"No," she sighed again. "No, everything is so wonderfully right. You're you, John is coming to stay, the farm is doing wonderful. What more could I ask for?"

My breath caught and my hands tightened reflexively. Maybe this was a bad idea, I thought as she eased back from my arms and looked at me, concerned. I couldn't have kept the want out of my eyes if I tried. I _had _to do this.

"Moira, I-"

"Moira!" She jerked in my arms and I dropped my hands. We both looked towards the door of the pub where the man she called 'Uncle Jack' stood waiting. "Phone for you! Sounds important!"

She looked back at me and I knew I was scowling. I looked at her face and felt the scowl smooth out. The hope blossoming on her face was undeniable.

"I'll be right back." Her voice was breathless. "Whatever…whatever you were about to say…you're going to finish saying it as soon as I can get rid of whoever dared to call just now. Ok?"

I started to smile. She knew. She knew and she was…excited. I lowered my forehead to hers. "You have 60 seconds. Go."

She laughed, a little wildly and ran towards the pub. She turned at the doorway and looked right at me. I couldn't resist. I mouthed "fifty", she grinned and rushed inside.

I stood there another few seconds before I felt a presence at my shoulder. John.

"Did you tell her?" he asked. There was barely concealed excitement in his voice.

"Not yet. Was about to. Got interrupted." My attention never wavered from the door as I counted down in my head.

"Where'd she run off to?"

"Phone call. She has forty seconds."

I continued my countdown. Well into the negative numbers. Three minutes and 12 seconds had gone by and the tightness in my stomach only grew more intense.

"Something's wrong…" I murmured, more to myself than John.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he began as 'Uncle' Jack came to the pub door. He grabbed two of Moira's hands, Aaron and Philip, I believed and spoke quickly to them before they rushed out the door, grabbing a few of the other men as they ran. Jack was in front of me before I realized I'd moved. I had only one question.

"Where's Moira?"

He looked at me, his face creased with worry.

"She ran out a couple minutes ago, I've been rounding up her lads inside. There's a fire at the farm. Bad one, judging by the way she lit out of here. I'm about to head up there meself."

I could feel the blood draining from my face. Not the farm. Hadn't she lost enough?"

John was beside me again. "What's wrong?" he asked.

I turned to look at him.

"Fire."

**I didn't anticipate their individual sections being this long so I didn't get to go into what will be the next chapter in this one. Things go a bit wrong in the next chapter, it's what I'm thinking of as the peak of this story so I wanted it to be the focus of its chapter. I'm really pleased with how this chapter turned out though. Reviews are so very appreciated and again, all my dedication and thanks to YourLoyalBlogger for the amazing cover.**


	10. Chapter 10

**This chapter just would not leave me alone, I was forsaking all kinds of responsibilities and sleep to write this last night and I hope it was worth it. This was a pretty intense chapter for me, I considered bumping up the rating to M for one or two pretty disturbing images but I wasn't sure if that warranted an M rating so I left it alone. Some more POV shifts, the longest of which is Ben/Sherlock's. I really hope you all like this chapter.**

**Chapter 10**

**Moira's POV**

The heat was incredible, the smoke, overwhelming. I pulled my coat tighter over my face to keep the black clouds filling the room from filling my lungs. Panicked whinnies and the clattering as the horses bucked against the walls of their stalls were faint over the roaring of the flames.

The entire left side of the barn was in flames, spilling down from the hayloft on that side. Through gaps in the smoke as wind rushed in from the window I'd shattered I could see the beams above me burning and I suddenly was filled with the terrible image of being trapped under one of those smoldering chunks of wood. I had to move quickly.

I rushed to the barn doors and found the padlock that I never locked. There would be no getting the doors open without opening the lock. Spare keys. My father always kept a spare set of keys in the barn. The desk. More and more smoke pushed down on me and I was forced to crawl in the direction of the desk. I rapped my head on it and scrambled for the drawers. I dug until I felt the metal in my hands and heard the faint jangling. Yanking them free I rushed back to the doors. My eyes burned from the smoke so I couldn't make out the correct key and had to try several times before I felt the click as the lock came undone.

I flung open the left door and took a gasping breath of cool air before rushing back into the barn. I threw open the first stall door and managed to make out Charlotte through the smoke.

"Easy, darling," I called out, praying my voice would settle her. She still danced in the stall but she was staying on two legs, long enough for me to smooth a hand over her neck and pull her out of the stall. As we neared the door I gave her a swat and she flew past me to the door. One down.

I raced back to the second stall. "Freckles. Freckles, love. Come on. It's me." The smoke I was breathing in was making me incredibly nauseous. "Come on, love. Let's get out of here." But my high-strung horse was bucking wildly and I had to dodge flying hooves. "Freckles. Please, girl. Please." Her panicked cries turned to frightened whinnies and her big head pushed against my chest. "Good girl. Good. Come on." I gave her a tug and she followed me out, big hooves dancing.

A crack above me had me pulling her harder but she continued to dance. A louder, sharper crack and embers rained down on us and I saw one land on her flank. Freckles reared, huge side slamming into my chest and sending me stumbling back. My foot caught on something and I went down hard, head snapping against the wood and my vision went blurry. I could vaguely make out her shape sprinting towards the still open barn door. She was out.

I let my head drop back to the floor in a moment of relief. Now to just get back up and out myself. Easy. I rolled to my side to drag myself up.

And came face to face with what I'd tripped over.

Or rather, as the gaping hole that had once been a man's face indicated, face to faceless.

**John's POV**

We were sitting in the back of Jack's pickup truck, holding on for dear life, as the truck rushed along the roads behind the rest of what felt like a bloody convoy racing back to the farm.

"Oh, God," came Ben's horrified whisper as we came over the last hill. Moira's orchard was burning.

We could see several fire engines working to put it out and men hauling buckets of water from the river to the left of the orchard and the stream that met it on the right. As far as I could see there was little chance of the fire spreading when it was blocked in by the road and two bodies of water but the trees would be a loss to Moira.

The line of cars stopped and men were jumping from them and rushing to help. Ben leapt from truck and was searching the crowd frantically. He spotted a man at the edge of the crowd speaking to a man in a fireman's uniform. When the man saw Ben approach he stepped away to intercept him.

"She's fine," the man said.

"Where is she?" Ben demanded.

"Up at the house. I told her to wait there until we'd gotten things under control here. She's fine."

"She is _not_ fine." He turned from the man and started running in the direction of the house.

The man rubbed his head and turned to look at me. He hesitated a moment before holding out his hand. "Joe MacNamara. Inspector."

I took it and shook. "John Watson. Friend of Moira's."

He nodded and looked back toward the blaze. "They should have it out in an hour or two. The river and stream should keep it isolated but if the wind changes things could get dicey."

"Any idea what started it?"

"Not much yet. We've had some trouble with vandals in the last couple weeks. No one from around here but it's probably that."

We stood there for a few minutes watching the work before he sighed again. "It's not right that things like this keep happening to her. She's a good girl. I've known her almost her whole life. Her dad and me were mates in school. Mark, me and Jack, though Jack and Mark were like brothers. I was the one who got the call the day of the accident. Hardest thing I've ever done, knocking on that door…"

We both looked up when we heard a few men shouting and a few of the firemen were rushing back to a truck. "Oi!" the inspector shouted toward one of the men. "What's going on?"

One of the men called back as they ran past. "Second fire! Up by the house! Barn's goin' up!"

The inspector turned to me with a white face. "Christ. Moira."

We both ran for the truck. "We're coming with you!" I shouted, grabbing onto one of the rails on the back of the truck.

"Then you two'd best hold on."

The truck lurched to life and we were racing down the next hill towards the house. The orange glow from behind the house led the truck down the drive and over the grass to the back of the house. The barn was being consumed by flames.

Several hundred feet away I saw two horses standing in the grass. But no Moira. And no Ben. I jumped off the truck and started calling for them. The inspector was running up to the house and the other men were readying a nearby well to use as a water source when I saw the open barn door and the flames spitting out of it.

"Oh, Jesus." I got within 100 feet of the fiery building when I saw the shadows on the sloped roof. And was transported back to that fateful day at St. Bart's. Not again. I couldn't watch this again.

I watched one of the figures pull the other to standing and the wind caught on and pulled a scarf away from the slumping figure. An arm was dragged over a shoulder as they started a slow and skidding descent down the side of the roof. I rushed around to be closer. Fire cast some light but not enough for me to determine who was who. The roaring of the fire was getting louder. They needed to get off the roof.

"Jump!" I shouted. "It's about to go up! Just jump!"

The supporting figure stopped for a moment and just stared in my direction.

"JUMP!" I roared.

They jumped an instant before the explosion blew through the roof.

**Ben/Sherlock's POV**

I didn't care what the inspector said. I knew nothing about this would leave Moira fine. Despite what would be minimal damage to her land I knew that every acre of this place was sacred to her.

I ran down the drive, expecting to see her sitting on the porch, arms wrapped around her knees. I could see it so perfectly in my head as I ran. She'd stand as I approached and just move into my arms, seeking comfort, seeking that feeling of permanence that there was something in her life that wouldn't be taken from her. I would be that permanence.

But she wasn't on the porch. She wasn't waiting.

I jogged up the steps and up to the door. Still locked and the windows were all dark. Around back then? I started to rush around the side when I heard the first wild whinnies.

'Oh, God, the barn.' It was a burning mass. The cries I'd heard were those of the horse she called Charlotte as she was running hard away from the flaming building.

"Moira!" I shouted as I ran for the building. "Moira! Answer me!"

Nothing but the sounds of fire. But under it…more whinnies. From inside the barn.

"Moira!" I bellowed as I rushed towards the door. I was 50 feet from the door when I heard the pounding of hooves and threw myself to the ground as the second horse leapt over me. I rolled and ran the rest of the way to the door. I was halfway there when I heard the scream. Yanking my coat around me to keep the ends from catching fire I ran through the open door.

The heat was like a punch to the face once inside. The smoke was smothering. I instinctively dropped into a crouch as I moved into the room. I strained my ears and could hear panicked whimpering. "Moira!" I called. A weak sob. I heard shoes scraping over wood floors and things being knocked out the way. The vaguest outline of a moving shape some 10 feet to my right had me leaping towards it and my hand closed over a trembling shoulder.

"Moira," I said, dragging her into my chest. Her breath was heaving out of her. "Moira, it's alright. We're getting out of here. Right now." I tried to drag her up but she wouldn't budge. "Moira, we need to go." I pulled her face out of my chest and got a good look. It was pale and smudged. And horrified. "What is it, Moira?" She removed a clenched fist from its place in my coat and pointed behind me.

I turned my head and saw about six feet away was a boot. The boot was connected to a leg and a torso and a head. But that was where the thing on the floor stopped resembling a human. I expected revulsion as I looked at the destroyed face. There was nothing: no eyes, no nose, no mouth.

"Oh, God, Moira." I pulled her into my chest as if hiding it from her eyes would make her forget it. Her lungs continued to expand too fast. She was taking in too much.

"Moira. Moira, you have to breathe. You'll breathe in smoke. You have to breathe normally."

"Bastian. It's Bastian," she gasped. "Oh, God."

I didn't stop to ask her how she knew. I needed to get her moving. The beams above us were cracking and we'd be trapped beneath them. I yanked my scarf off my neck and wrapped it around her face. "Breathe through the scarf, Moira. You need to calm down." She whimpered and buried her face in my chest and I heard her breathing start to level out. "Good. Good girl. Come on now. Up." We staggered to our feet and she leaned on me. I kept her tucked under my arm as we moved back towards the barn door. And then I heard the crack from above. I grabbed her and dove into the open stall as a beam came crashing down, blocking our only way out.

She was shaking like a leaf under me. "Ben," she said weakly.

"It's alright," I assured her. "We'll find another way out."

"Ben," she murmured and I looked into her watery eyes. "I don't want to die in here. Not like this."

I hauled her up and into my arms. "We are _not_ dying. Not today. Think, Moira. Another way out."

She looked around, tears running down her soot stained face. "Side door. But I lost the keys. Windows?"

"Windows. Good. Good. Let's find one." I pulled her out of the stall. The smoke was thick and the fire hot. And from what I could see, every window was inaccessible.

"Loft," she said, muffled by my scarf. I looked up. The loft was a wall of fire. She tugged my sleeve. "Not that one. That one." She pointed to the other side of the barn where the flames were smaller but the smoke thicker. There was a ledge of about 6 feet and a ladder running up the barn wall. I dragged her over to it and pushed her up.

"Climb, Moira. I'm right behind you." Her shaking hands grabbed the rungs and she pulled herself up. Gaining momentum as I crowded in behind her to keep her moving. She dragged herself over the ledge and crawled to the window as I came up behind her. She through her weight into the window and I saw that the lock was rusted shut. "On three," I commanded. "One. Two. Three."

We both threw our weight into the window and the lock popped and we both tumbled out onto the roof. We sprawled on the roof and I heard her gasping for air. I crawled over to her and pulled her into sitting. Her face was streaked with tears. "Not done yet, Moira. We have to get down." Her eyes slid shut and she dropped her head onto my shoulder and nodded. I stood and pulled her up with me. The wind caught my scarf around her neck and it flowed out. I pulled her arm over my shoulder and walked carefully to the edge of the roof.

"Jump!" I heard from somewhere below me. "It's about to go! Just jump!"

I looked down and saw John standing on the grass, staring up at us. For a moment he wasn't standing on the grass and he was suddenly much farther away. He was holding a cell phone and staring up at me. His voice was in my ear.

"_This phone call. It's um. It's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."_

"_Leave a note when?"_

"_Goodbye, John."_

"_No. Don't."_

"_SHERLOCK!"_

"JUMP!"

I snapped back to the present, took a tighter grip on Moira and we leapt off the roof. The world exploded behind us and I heard her cry out and then we were falling through the air. I wrapped myself around her, bracing for the impact, which didn't disappoint me. The ground rushed up and slammed me into it, knocking the wind out of me from both directions as she landed on top of me and then we rolled. She stopped a few feet from me, unmoving.

"Christ! Christ, are you two alright?"

I was a foot from Moira when John dropped down beside me. "God, stop moving, you could've broken a million different things."

I rolled her over and she opened bleary eyes. "Oh, thank God. Moira. Moira, are you alright?"

"I…I think so," she said as she started to sit up. John pushed her back down.

"Would you two stop bloody moving! Lay there, for Christ's sake, don't move until an ambulance gets here. You too," he said and shoved me down beside her.

I turned my head to look at her and she was staring up at the sky. She shut her eyes and tears squeezed out. "Moira," I whispered, reaching for her hand. She grabbed it and clung.

"Oh, God," she murmured. "It was Baz. It was. I know it."

"What are you talking about?" John asked.

"There was a body in there. Oh, God, it was awful. His face. It was just gone."

"What?" John yelped. "What do you mean there was a body?"

"How do you know, Moira?" I asked, ignoring his question. "How can you be sure it was him?"

"The shirt," she said through gathering tears. "He was wearing it this morning when I spoke to him. There was a patch on the sleeve that I'd sewn there myself for him when he'd gotten a hole in it. It was him. Oh, God, his face."

"What happened to his face?"

She shook her head as if trying to shake away the image. "It was just a hole. Like it had been blown away. Like with a gun. Who could do that? Why?"

We all turned our heads at the running feet and saw the inspector running towards us. "Moira! Christ, Moira, are you alright?"

"I'm ok, I'm not hurt." She tried to sit up again and John pushed her back down.

"Get an ambulance here. They both just took a dive off the barn roof and I want them both checked out." The inspector nodded and ran back towards the house.

"John, I'm fine. We're fine."

"Well, I'm not, so you two are going to bloody well sit there and wait for a damn doctor."

"Aren't you a damn doctor, _Doctor_ Watson?" I asked testily.

"Shut up. My hands are shaking so hard I couldn't take a pulse if I wanted to. Do not. Move." And with that he collapsed on his back beside us.

The three of us lay there in the grass watching as the fire brigade went to work on the barn, from this distance the heat from the fire was nearly soothing.

"I need to tell Joe about Bastian," Moira said softly a few minutes later. "And I need to check on the horses. And the orchard."

"You're going to get checked out by the medics and then you are going to do whatever they tell you and _then_ you can do whatever you think you need to. But those first." Came John's terse reply.

"John, I can talk, I can move, I'm not in pain except for my side which is probably just a pulled muscle from being yanked off an exploding roof." She sat up with a sigh.

"Damnit, Moira," John said.

She squeezed my hand before releasing it and getting slowly to her feet. "I'm at least going to go let Joe know about Bastian and make sure the horses are all right. Freckles got hit with an ember and I need to…"

She staggered. I shot up. "Moira."

"Need…to…" Her knees buckled and her eyes rolled back in her head. I caught her an instant before she hit the ground.

"Moira!" I lowered her gently as John dropped to his knees beside us.

"We need that ambulance now!" he bellowed.

"Oh, God, Moira. Answer me. Wake up." I tapped her face and got no response, I shook her as hard as I dared.

The inspector came rushing towards us with his flashlight lighting the path. "What happened?"

"She passed out," John said. He glanced over as the inspector ran towards us but then his eyes focused more fully on him. "Stop. Run your flashlight over that again."

The inspector froze and we both watched as he ran the flashlight over the ground in front of him. The ground where moment ago Moira had been laying. The ground that was now stained red.

"Christ. She was bleeding the whole time. From where?" John was talking to himself now as he pulled open Moira's coat and ran his hands over her. His hand stilled on her left side. He slowly tugged on the side of her dress and his finger slipped through the near perfectly round hole. His face went the color of ash.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, horrified.

"What is it?" I asked frantically.

He looked up at me with hard, flat eyes.

"She's been shot."

**Well? What did everyone think? Reviews mean a lot this chapter because I'm not sure how everyone is going to feel with this delightful turn of events. Excited, I hope. Anticipatory for the next chapter. I'll even take furious at me for doing something so disturbing! Reviews, comments, criticisms, all are welcome and appreciated!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I am so so so so sorry this chapter took so long. I have been sick for the last week and a half with strep and a sinus infection that has left me exhausted and in pain for almost as long. I hope this was worth the wait!**

**Chapter 11**

**John's POV**

The last time I had sat in the waiting room of a hospital I had been in the same position: elbows on my knees, hands clasped, chin on clenched fists, eyes shut. I'd been waiting then, hoping against hope that I was wrong, praying for a miracle that, until a week ago, hadn't come.

This time however, I was slightly more relaxed. Being a military doctor had allowed me to analyze a great many wounds, gunshot wounds in particular. I was fairly confident that while the blood loss Moira had suffered was dangerous, the wound itself was about as non-threatening as a penetrative gunshot wound could be.

Glancing to my left, I wondered if this is what I'd felt like the last time I'd sat in a waiting room.

The dark haired man beside me had his head in his hands, his back expanding with every deep inhalation, his hand tightening reflexively in his hair and his shoulders giving a brief shudder every few moments.

"She's going to be alright," I said for the fifth time in about 15 minutes.

"You don't know that," came the whispered reply.

"Look, I was very good at what I did, I was a hell of a doctor, a hell of a soldier. It looked to me like the bullet caught mostly meat and the adrenaline just pumped out the blood, making it look much worse. They got blood back into her quickly in the ambulance. Try to think positive."

"Why would someone shoot at her…I just don't understand."

I sighed. "I don't know. But you can bet we're going to find out."

He looked up at me, face pale and strained, eyes completely wrecked. "How?"

I had been thinking about this ever since the ambulance ride. I hadn't been sure it would be the right move. But if someone was taking shots anywhere near him…or Moira, for that matter…drastic measures needed to be taken. "I know some people."

I placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "I'll be right back." I took my phone out of my pocket as I moved to the doors. Once I was safely in another corridor I scrolled through my contacts.

The ringing in my ear was finally interrupted. "Why, Doctor Watson. This is a rather pleasant surprise. What can I do for you at this late hour?"

"I need a favor, Mycroft."

When I reenter the waiting room my companion is on his feet, he's slightly hunched over as he speaks to a tiny red-headed woman who has her back to me, she's wearing scrubs and her hair is bound back into a messy bun under a surgical cap. Her hands are rubbing up and down Ben's, a soothing gesture that tells me that they've met before. I catch the end of their conversation as I approach.

"She's going to be fine, love. I was there the whole time supervising. No vital organs were hit, she'll be a little tender on that side for a while but other than that she should be fine to go home by the afternoon. She's sleeping now but she should wake soon, I can take you up if you'd like?"

His eyes clothes and he exhales deeply and a hesitant smile creeps onto his face. "Yes. Thank you." He catches sight of me. "Oh. John. There you are. Moira's alright."

I grin at him. "See? I told you. Should always listen to your doctor."

He smiles weakly at me and I shift my gaze to the tiny woman beside him. For an instant my mind goes completely blank. I've never been the tallest man in the room but beside her I feel fairly enormous. She is almost as pale as the man beside her except for the rose in her cheeks. A smattering of freckles over her nose make her look like a bloody coed but her eyes are sharp and green and…feisty.

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Doctor John Watson, this is a friend of Moira's, Doctor Mary Morstan."

I hold my hand out as a reflex and find it held in a small, smooth, firm grip.

"Doctor Watson," she says coolly.

"Um. Yes. Hi."

Her eyebrow rises. "You're a friend of Moira's?" she asks.

"Um. Yea. Yes. We met last year. In London. At the ah…Farmer's Market on Sundays."

Immediately her face clears and she smiles. "Oh! Yes! I remember now! Moira's told me a lot about you. But what are you doing up here?"

"Um. Moira invited me."

"That's lovely. Now do you think one of you could tell me just what the hell happened to get my friend shot?"

SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM

**Ben/Sherlock's POV**

Mary took us up to Moira's room. She's outside now with John so he can fill her in on what happened tonight. Moira is still sleeping. She looks terribly pale but…peaceful. My brain is moving a million miles a minute it feels like. It's giving me a terrible headache. Words, images, all flitting behind my eyes at lightning speed and I can't keep up or make sense of any of it.

Her hand is in mine and it's cool so I can't help rubbing it to circulate the blood. How did tonight go so wrong? Bloody hell, I was going to tell her I loved her tonight and then the next thing I know she's surrounded by flames and we're leaping off a roof and she's collapsing and there's blood and she wouldn't wake in the ambulance.

John told me she would be fine. Said it wasn't as bad as it looked but it looked horrifying so it could still have been very bad. I was incredibly relieved when Mary came out of the operating room, not that I didn't trust John's judgment (for some strange reason, I do trust him though) but I've met Mary many times at the house and seen her medical skills at work and she's quite brilliant.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up into John's face.

"She'll probably be asleep a little while longer yet, come out here a minute, I want to talk to you about something," he whispers.

His face is serious but the squeeze to my shoulder is reassuring. I give Moira's hand another squeeze and before I can question myself I lean over and press a kiss to her forehead.

I walk out into the hall and face John. Mary is nowhere in sight.

"Everything alright?" I don't want to be away from Moira longer than I have to.

"I talked to Mary. And the inspector. We think it might be a good idea not to let Moira know exactly what happened."

I frown. "Why would we do that?"

He sighs. "I was a soldier. The wound, the range of the shot, hell, the body in the barn…it screams 'sniper' to me. Which means that this wasn't some stunt by some fool kids. This is serious. We're thinking we should tell her when the barn exploded she got hit with some glass or wood. Telling her there's a sniper on her property will just put her under more stress then she needs until we know just what's going on."

"How can she stay safe if she doesn't know what happened?" I ask incredulously. I can't believe he's proposing this.

"I said I knew people who could help us find out what happened. Those same people can also keep her safe. But if there's one thing I learned it's that stubborn, independent people have a tendency to rebel against having their every move watched. Regardless of whether or not it's for their own good."

"Who are these people you know?"

He sighs again and sits down. "That's what's going to make this difficult. Do you remember I told you that you had a brother?"

I hesitate. "Yes. Mycroft?"

"Yes. Mycroft works for the British Government. Frankly, I don't know exactly what he does but he has a great many resources at his disposal. I told him I had a friend in trouble, someone was trying to hurt her and I didn't know how or why. He owes me."

"Did you…tell him about me?"

John shakes his head. "No. Not yet. But he'll need to know. I told him to come up here this morning so I can tell him what's going on and then we can decide on a course of action. I told him to come up alone. I'm sure he won't but we can at least…reunite you two, as it were, in private here at the hospital."

I sit beside him. "I don't remember him…you said…you said he tried to control me? In the journal? Abducting us in black cars, surveillance in our flat? What if…what if he tries to take me with him?"

John's hand closes on my forearm. "Hey. I will NOT let that happen. Your place is here with Moira. We're going to sort this all out and then you and Moira are going to finish whatever it is that almost started tonight, alright? It's your turn to be happy and I'm not going to let a control freak like Mycroft put a stop to that. I promise."

A spike in the beeping of the heart monitor in the room behind us has us both jumping to our feet and running into the room. Moira's eyes are out of focus and looking around in confusion and her heart is racing. John gets to her first. He gently takes her face in his hands and forces her to look at him.

"Moira. Moira, it's John. Come on, darling, focus on me. You're safe, you're fine. You're in the hospital but you're fine now. Take a breath, love."

"John," she croaks.

"There we are, another breath, darling. Just calm down. You're safe, everyone is safe."

"Ben," she wheezes.

"He's right here, right beside me, see?" He turns her head so she can see me, I fumble for her hand.

"Right here, Moira," I murmur. "I'm right here."

She visibly relaxes and the heart monitor levels out. "Can I have some water?" she asks weakly.

John immediately goes to a pitcher on the table in the corner and returns with the cup and a straw. She takes several sips.

"What happened?" she says softly, sounding more like herself, just tired.

I glance at John who just watches her levelly. "Do you remember the barn?"

She nods.

"Do you remember jumping?"

She nods again.

"Well, it looks like when you jumped off the roof and the barn exploded that some debris pierced your side. Went right through. It didn't hit any organs but the adrenaline just pushed the blood out and you fainted when you stood. They got blood into you on the way to the hospital and they've stitched you up, you'll be able to go home in a few hours."

"Oh…wow. Close call, huh?" She looks at me and smiles gently. I force a smile onto my face. I've never lied to her before, does this make me an accessory to a lie or am I part of it for letting John tell it?

"You alright?" she asks me.

"Fine, just some bruises and scrapes."

Her eyes move past me and her smile widens a bit. "Mary!"

"Hello, you!" The tiny red-head hurries across the room, pushing John and I aside to wrap Moira in a hug. Moira and Mary met shortly after Moira's family's accident. Mary had been the doctor on call the day they'd been brought in and she had done her absolute best to bring them back but too much damage had been done. She'd spoken to Moira when the police had brought her to the hospital. She'd kept in touch with the shattered young woman and had become something of a surrogate mother.

John and I watched as Mary ran a check on Moira's vitals and checked her stitched wound. I couldn't help noticing the way John's eyes followed Mary rather than Moira. Mary glanced up once and caught John's eye and grinned.

'_Well, thank god, at least she's not like the other simpering fools he's chased after.'_

I'm not sure where the voice comes from, a deep baritone, slightly mocking, very condescending, but familiar, different from the voice I used to hear.

'_Boring. Every last one of them. At least Mary is slightly interesting. Though likely still an idiot.'_

I jump away from the bed as if it's on fire. Every eye in the room turns to me.

"Ben? What is it?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Leg fell asleep. Just going to go…walk it off." And I rush from the room. I get about thirty feet down the corridor before I have to brace my hands against the wall.

'_First the girl from the surgery. Sarah. Lord, she was stupid. Just sat there while a giant dart was inches from impaling her. She could've tipped her chair over and saved me a near suffocation.'_

Oh, god. Why won't it stop?

'_Then the one with the spots, and the one with the nose, and then the boring teacher…'_

"Enough!"

The voice falls silent.

"What is it?" comes a voice from a few feet away. I turn and see John.

"Did you date a woman named Sarah? A doctor?" I ask without preamble.

John gapes. "Yea. Yes. Not long after you and I met. She runs the surgery I work at. You remember that?"

"I think so…a few others as well. I saw you looking at Mary and she smiled at you and then…there was just this voice…in my head…talking about them."

He takes a step forward. "Are you remembering? Are your memories coming back?" I can't tell if he's shocked or hopeful. But I'm petrified.

"I don't know. When I was sitting with Moira, I was trying to think how this happened, who would want to hurt her, and there were all these things happening in my head, none of it made sense and it was all happening so quickly."

"Mind palace," John whispers.

"What?"

"That's what you called it. A mind palace. It's a memory technique. Basically you build all these rooms in your head and put your memories inside them so you can always find them again later as long as you find the right room."

"That's mad."

"That was you. Was there anything else you remembered?"

I'm about to say no when I remember earlier, on the roof. "Yes. When we were about to jump. You were below but suddenly…you were farther away. It was light out, no fire, you were holding a phone, I could hear your voice in my head…telling me not to do it. But then I was back on the barn and you were telling me to jump."

John's face has gone the color of ash. "That was the last day. That was the day you died. What else do you remember? Do you remember why you did it?" He sounds slightly desperate. I don't blame him. I'd want to know why I did it too.

I turn back to the wall, resting my head on it. "I don't want to remember, John. The voice…it sounded awful. So cold. So…cruel. If he comes back…what will it do to me? Will I still want to be with Moira? Will she still want to be with me? Or will I just be gone?"

John's hand is on my back. "I don't know. I've never seen amnesia like this. I don't know what will happen."

"I hear a 'but'…"

He sighs. "But…if there's anyone who can figure out who hurt Moira and why…it's Sherlock Holmes."

I look at him incredulously. "You what are you saying? That I have to choose? Between protecting her and being with her? What kind of a choice is that?"

"One I wish you didn't have to make. We don't have to decide anything about this right now. Mycroft will be here in a few hours. We'll talk to him. See what he can sort out. If his people can neutralize whatever threat there is to Moira, maybe you won't have to."

SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM SJM

**Moira's POV**

I watch the door anxiously, looking for any sign of Ben and John returning.

"Moira, stop worrying. They'll be right back," Mary laughs. I turn to look at my friend.

"Did he get checked out? He did jump off a roof."

Mary pats my hand. He was thoroughly checked, I promise. I'm sure he's just overwhelmed. I went to the waiting room to tell him you were doing alright and he was a complete mess. He's just been so worried about you. If I didn't know any better I'd say that poor lad is completely head over heels."

I flush and Mary notices. "What is that? Why are you turning so red? What's happened?"

"Nothing! Nothing's happened yet, Mary."

"Yet! What does 'yet' mean? Have you been holding out on me?"

"No! No. It's just…I think…earlier tonight, I think he was going to tell me something. Something important."

Mary's hands are covering her enormous smile and she whispers. "I thought you didn't see him that way…"

I smile. "I didn't think so either…oh, Mary…so much has happened this week. I have to tell you…but it's shown me how much he matters to me. So much more than I thought."

Tears fill Mary's eyes. "Oh, Mary! Please don't cry!"

She smiles hugely, tears rolling down her cheeks as she wraps her arms around me again. "I can't help it! I'm just so pleased for you! I've only ever wanted to see you happy again, Moira."

"I know," I say, returning the hug. "You're the best, Mary."

"I know. Now. Tell me about this Doctor Watson. He's quite a charming sight."

I grin at her. "Really? Well, this is a lovely turn. What would you like to know?"

She is grinning back at me but before she can ask I see John and Ben have reappeared in the doorway. John looks calm, too calm, and Ben looks shaken. I immediately tense.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Ben hesitates before smiling at me and walking to the bed to sit down beside me. He takes my hand. "Nothing. I'm just…so glad you're all right. It gave me a bad turn. You're sure you're all right?"

He looks so frightened. I rush to reassure him and wrap my arms around him, he tenses for a moment before relaxing into the embrace and gently but firmly hugs me back. "I'm fine," I tell him. "Everything is going to be fine."

I hear him sigh. "Yes," and there's a note of determination in his voice. "Everything is going to be fine. I swear."

**This chapter didn't end up going where I wanted it to go. I didn't expect to spend so much time in the hospital but I like how it went. Again I apologize for this taking so long! Hope I haven't lost too many of you! Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	12. Chapter 12

**So sorry this chapter took so long! It was incredibly difficult for me to write, I had several drafts because the originals just didn't work with my plotted timeline or future events and this ended up coming out better than I had anticipated so I hope it was worth the wait. Happy reading!**

Chapter 12

I was feeling like one of those china dolls sitting on a high shelf, meant to be looked at but not handled. We'd left the hospital three days before and everyone had been treating me like I was made of glass. Mary had even temporarily moved in! She had had some vacation time saved up she and she and I hadn't had a proper visit in ages. Fortunately, I was spared her constant hovering in her distraction with my other houseguest.

It had become all too common for me to walk into a room and see John and Mary huddled together over tea, talking in whispers. They'd drop into silence the minute they'd realized they weren't alone and Mary would flush a charming red.

As much as I despised the hovering, I was thrilled with the budding romance.

Especially since mine seemed to have wilted and died before ever even beginning to bloom. That's not to say that I didn't see Ben as often, in fact, I probably saw him more than I ever did on a daily basis.

Ben was almost constantly at my side, he'd moved up to the main house and was always there when I turned around, offering to take care of whatever I needed. Normally, this might've inspired some hope, this complete devotion to my needs, but I was left feeling like a patient being looked after by a well-intentioned nurse instead of a woman being pampered by her…whatever he was (or might've been). He was almost disturbingly careful to keep our physical contact to a minimum since that first day in the hospital. And it had seemed like such an enormous step forward that the ten steps back he seemed to have taken left me worried.

I couldn't really blame him though, the arrival of his brother had probably shaken him.

_He and John had told me shortly before I left the hospital._

"_I've...asked John if he might put me in touch with my brother," Ben had said._

_I cursed the presence of the heart monitor, the slightest palpitation could be heard perfectly clearly._

"_Oh? I…I thought you…"_

"_No! No no no. Nothing like that. I just…I'm not going to keep trying for my memories, Moira. That's not what this is about. I just…thought it wouldn't be fair to leave him completely in the dark about…me."_

_Sanity returned. Of course it wouldn't be fair. He might not be the brother he knew anymore, but this Mycroft could still have some kind of relationship with Ben. Maybe a better one than they had had._

"_Of course. That actually sounds like a lovely idea, you should get in touch with him," I said._

_John had been leaning against the wall. "Actually, Moira, I already called Mycroft, he's on his way up. He should be here shortly," he said._

"_Oh. That's quick. Um. Well, if you give me a few minutes I can probably be find something other than this horrid gown to wear," I laughed._

"_I'd…appreciate it if you waited here. John will come with me to meet him and then if you're up to it, we'll come back here for him to meet you. Is that alright?"_

_I had never worked so hard in my life to keep my heartbeat level. He didn't want me there. What had changed in such a short amount of time?_

"_It's not that I don't want you there, Moira. Believe me, I do. But it's been a dreadful night for you. I don't want it to cause you any stress if this…meeting doesn't go smoothly."_

"_I understand." Of course, I didn't._

_John's phone beeped. We both looked over at him as he typed a response._

"_He's here. I told him to asked for Mary. Um. Doctor Morstan. She said she could let us use one of the conference rooms. I'm going to head up and meet him there. I'll text you when we're ready for you, alright?" he asked, looking at Ben. Ben nodded._

_John gave me a smile and left the room. Ben turned back to me and his eyes were worried. "How are you feeling?" he asked._

_I gave him a weak grin. "Feeling alright, little aches and pains here and there, the drugs are lovely," I joked, hoping for a smile and receiving none. I reached up to touch his face, hand cupping his scruffy cheek, thumb running along those magnificent cheekbones. He hesitated only a moment before leaning into my hand and shutting his eyes. The dark circles stood out against his pale skin._

_He'd obviously washed, though there were still some traces of soot by his ears and on his neck, a few scrapes that I could see and his clothes had been taken and he was wearing scrubs under an ill-fitting sweater._

"_Have you slept at all?" I asked softly._

"_No. Couldn't sleep 'til you woke up. Wanted to make sure you were alright."_

"_Well, I am. You need to get some rest."_

"_Soon."_

"_You look ready to drop. Come here, close your eyes for a few moments, you can go when John texts you, it might take some time." I scooted over to create more space on the bed and turned on my non-injured side. I tugged him down until he lay beside me, our faces close. I kept my hand on his cheek._

"_Thank you," I whispered._

_His brow furrowed. "For what?"_

"_Saving me."_

_His eyes widened before clenching shut, he leaned his head forward the last couple of inches to press against mine. "Moira…" he said in a ragged whisper._

"_What is it?"_

"_You shouldn't have needed saving," he croaked out. "I don't know what my opinion on religion or higher powers or anything like that is or was, but if there is a god, I can't fathom why things like this would be allowed to keep happening to you. I just want you safe."_

_I rubbed my thumb over his cheek. "I know. I know you do. But we can't control everything. Sometimes things just happen. Bad people don't always come to bad ends, sometimes it's good people."_

_His eyes snapped open. "This is not the end for you. You are not allowed to have an end." It came out as a growl._

_He looked so put out by the idea that I should lack the ability to live forever that I couldn't resist the impulse to kiss his forehead. "I shall do my very best to obtain immortality if it will make you feel better."_

_He sighed. "Do that. Please. I don't know what I'd do if-"_

"_Shhh. No point worrying about it now. I'm fine and I'm going to stay fine," I murmured against the crease in his forehead._

_We lay there silently for a moment. Our hands tangled together, my nose buried in his hair. He sighed again and tilted his head up to look at me. The drugs were once again taking hold of my system and I gave him a sleepy smile. The corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly in a smile and I was fascinated by that little curve. So fascinated that I was acutely aware of it when it slid away. I glanced back up at his eyes and saw how intently he was staring, as far as I could tell, at my own mouth. There was an increase in the beeping of my heart monitor._

"_Moira…" he whispered._

_I tilted my head down, noses brushing softly, surprising a sharp inhale from him. I gently shifted farther down on the bed until we were level. I couldn't hear his heart but I could feel the steadily increasing breaths as I felt each exhale against my mouth. I wasn't even aware how close we'd gotten until I'd stuck my tongue out to soothe the bottom lip that my teeth had in a death grip and felt it brush against his mouth. Instead of the inhale, I heard the softest of moans and watched his eyes slide shut._

"_Jesus," he panted._

"_Thought you didn't know what you believed in," I teased, my own voice going husky. As my mouth shaped the words I could feel every time his mouth brushed against mine._

"_I'm starting to figure it out. This might be what heaven would be like."_

_It was hideously poetic and just the right thing to say. "You crazy nutter, get over here before I make you and pull a damn stitch."_

_His hand snagged the collar of my hospital gown and yanked me forward, crushing our lips together._

_I didn't even have time to open my mouth for a groan before the phone in his pocket, pressed right against my hip, vibrated loudly, forcing me back as the ticklish sensation erupted._

"_Oh, God," I laughed. "Perfect timing."_

_He was looking at me, so frustrated, I leaned forward and kissed him quickly. "It looks like John was right."_

_"About what?"_

_"Your brother does an awful lot of interrupting. Go. The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back and we can all go home and..."_

_I left the sentence hanging and did my best to attempt to look seductive. While still pale and slightly sooty. In a hospital gown. It must have worked to some extent because he rolled over onto his back and covered his face with his hands and made a sound, a mix of a laugh and a groan, before rolling back over and kissing me quick but fierce. I was laughing as he rolled away again and got up. He walked backwards to the door, watching me._

_"We **will **finish this conversation," he said firmly._

_"Yes. Now GO."_

_He smiled briefly before turning the corner and disappearing from my sight. I sank into my pillows and sighed, a smile on my face as I let the exhaustion of the last few hours and the medicine take over and I drifted off to sleep._

"Miss Holloway?"

I was jolted out of my memories and turned to see my latest houseguest standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He looked incredibly out of place in a suit that was probably the best Saville Row had to offer in my country kitchen. He was impossibly put together and I suddenly felt horribly underdressed in my comfiest sweatpants and an old jumper that had been my mother's. My range of motion was vastly improved since leaving the hospital, but I still have to be careful that I didn't pull the stitches so I'd been opting for the most comfortable clothes I had the first few days.

"Mr. Holmes, is there anything I can get for you? I hope the room is...comfortable?"

"Very comfortable, Miss Holloway. I appreciate your hospitality. I realize the circumstances are...unusual."

_You mean because you're the brother of the man I'm in love with who has no memory whatsoever of you or the life he used to lead? That's not unusual. That's barking mad._

"My pleasure, Mr. Holmes."

"John Watson has...apprised me in a point of what you've done for my brother. I was hoping you could fill in some of the gaps." He gestured to the kitchen table and I immediately take a step towards it before I remember that he's in my house and I'm not about to take orders, even silent ones, from a stranger. Instead, I moved to the stove to pour myself some tea.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Holmes?"

I heard him hesitate behind me. "Yes, please. That's very kind of you."

I smirked while my back was to him. _You won't find a biddable puppy here, mate._ Unconsciously, I reached up for the tea cups, forgetting that Ben had brought them down a shelf, and immediately felt the sharp tug in my side, making me gasp. I found myself in a chair before I could catch my breath and I looked up into the calm but penetrating eyes of the elegantly dressed Mycroft Holmes.

"Alright?" He said softly.

"Y-yes. Thank you. Just...over-reached, I guess."

He nodded and moved to the counter before returning with two cups of tea and handed one to me before sitting in the chair next to me, turning to face me and waiting expectantly.

"Ah. What would you like to know?"

"John said you found my brother about eight months ago?"

"Yes. Almost nine now, actually."

"In a storm."

"Yes. Pouring rain, hail, trees down, it was a terrible night. We found him early the next morning. We brought him back up to the main house and I looked after him the best i could until the doctor could come. I'd cleaned the gash on his head. He had a high fever, was delirious for a few weeks, pneumonia. I...I sat with him almost round the clock for the first month, then when he was out of the woods he was still too weak to do much so I would dash back from the fields as often as I could during the day. Had some of the boys run up just to check on him when I couldn't. He got stronger by the end of the second month. Would take him with me when we'd go to one of the farther fields, he'd rest and watch us, little by little he could move more and would help out here and there. Nothing strenuous! Just little things. Just to get his strength up. He was almost back to normal by the third month. With the obvious exception," I said.

"His memories."

"Yes. Um. We tried at first to see what he could remember but it was so hard on him. He'd end up ill for a full day or two, have bizarre dreams that none of us could make sense of, mumble things incoherently. After awhile the doctor advised us to take a break and then we just...got into a routine and never really went back to it. Until John."

"Yes, he mentioned the incident a few days ago. You consulted a physician?"

"Yes. a world-class surgeon. Doctor Thomas Fletcher. I trust his judgement. He nearly had a seizure on my porch, he said pushing him too hard could cause him irreparable damage. We asked him what he wanted to do. He made the decision to keep the life he's made here."

He was silent, watching me. "It upsets you. My being here," he said.

"No, sir. My concern isn't for me."

"My brother does not usually inspire such fierce loyalty. In fact, there has only been one other before you so eager to stand in front of him."

"Then I'm in excellent company, sir. And you can be sure that with myself and John Watson you'll find a sturdy wall between him and any who would try to force him into something he doesn't want."

"And you think he wants this?"

It wasn't said condescendingly. Like he was mocking me for a foolish notion, it was a curiosity.

"I believe he does, yes. John hasn't divulged very much about your relationship with your brother to me, just the occasional abduction in the journal John wrote for me, but I believe that you love your brother, don't want to see him come to harm any more than John or I do, I realize you have certain ways of looking out for him that are far beyond my scope but in nearly nine months, no one has laid a hand on him, something John has told me is quite an anomaly. He has been welcomed here, he has a home, a life, people who don't mock him-"

"And someone who loves him."

I met that probing stare as steadily as I could. "Yes. And someone who loves him."

He stared at me for a long moment before a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth and I was struck at how very like my Ben's smile it was.

"I rather like you, Miss Holloway. I thought once that John Watson would be the making of my brother. I was right in that he made him into a more...whole person, and into the beginnings of a better man, but unfortunately that work could not be finished. It would seem that you took up the mantle. Rather successfully."

I frowned at him. "I don't think I did anything. The man he is was always in him. Maybe he just didn't feel safe letting him out."

He crossed his legs. "And what if his unique talents? His...deductions?"

"What about them?"

"My brother was never the type to sit around and embrace boredom. His mind needed constant stimulation, even when he was barely old enough to speak. What do you do around here to abate the tantrums when the boredom sets in?"

"Tantrums?" I said, incredulously. "I've never seen him throw a tantrum in the entire time he's been here."

An eyebrow shot up. "I find it...difficult to image that the mental stimulation my brother requires can be satisfied in the daily workings of a, granted, far-reaching and I'm sure challenging to maintain, farm in the English countryside. Whatever do you do to keep him entertained?"

I thought for a moment before shrugging. "Well, in the beginning, when he still was on bed rest-"

"Oh, I'm sure that went over splendidly. He had his tonsils out when he was six, we went through three nannies in less than a week. He's always been a ghastly patient."

I blinked at him. "I read to him."

"Read to him," he said. I could hear the beginnings of shock.

"Yes. My father loved books, we've always been well-stocked, everything from classics to modern literature. When he was able to move around some we'd sit downstairs and watch films or old television shows my mother had taped. He's quite the Hitchcock fan. Music as well, in the evenings when we'd make dinner I played my father's records, or my sister's vast CD collection."

He was staring at me, mouth hanging open, eyes disbelieving.

"What?" I asked.

"If I hadn't seen him with my own eyes, heard him with my own ears, I would doubt any and all chance that the man you're talking about is my brother. My brother was, and I assumed always would be, a restless and unhappy man. Something I thought even amnesia would be too stubborn to alter."

"Maybe one had something to do with the other."

"How do you mean?"

"Maybe he was restless because he was unhappy. Maybe he was always trying to find that thing that would make him happy."

"And you think that he's found it here, and it's quelled that restlessness. Given him...peace."

"Maybe. Though..."

"Yes?"

"The last couple of days...he's been distant. With me, specifically."

"I rarely see him away from your side. I was shocked to be permitted these few moments alone with you."

"Permitted?"

"And his time is now up."

We both turned to see Ben standing in the doorway, his face carefully blank but his eyes, so completely fixed on me, were swirling with emotions.

"Well. I thank you for your time, Miss Holloway," I heard Mycroft say, my eyes never leaving Ben's.

"You're welcome. And it's Moira, by the way."

"Then you may call me Mycroft," he said as he headed for the back door.

"Dinner is at seven, Mycroft," I said, just as he reached it.

There is a pause before the door opens and closes.

Neither of us said a word for several moments before he takes a step into the room. "He's right. I've barely been away from you for longer than a few moments. And you think I've been distant from you?"

"You have been," I said firmly.

"How so?"

"Look at you now," I said, gesturing to the space between us. "You're here, you're in this room, like you have been a hundred times before, but you haven't touched me in days. Even casually. If you've decided that...that you don't want what we were starting that night, what we started in the hospital the next day-"

"Don't. Don't talk about that place."

Tears sprung up in my eyes, beyond my control. "If you don't want it anymore than have the courage to say so, don't tell me we're going to finish a conversation and then three days later pretend like it didn't happen. Don't come into this room, keep two feet between us like I'm a bomb about to go off, and tell me you're not distant from me. Don't-"

I was cut off as I suddenly found myself caught fast and tight against his chest, both his arms around my waist, his mouth fused to mine and the kitchen counter suddenly pressed into my back.

As I looped my arms tightly around his neck, my last coherent thought slipped out of my head.

I guess there was a bomb about to go off. But it certainly wasn't me.

**Well, I hope you enjoyed that. It was an incredibly difficult and fun chapter to write, especially the beginning and end bits (you know which ones...). For anyone who hasn't seen, Benedict and Steven Moffat were recently in NYC promoting season 2 of Sherlock and there was a Q&A after the screening of A Scandal in Belgravia (WHICH AIRS IN THE US ON SUNDAY AT 9 ON PBS! WOO!) and it was a really entertaining Q&A, he is so handsome and so intelligent and just AMAZING. So, I highly recommend that. I will try to have the next chapter up within the next week, again, I'm sorry you had to wait for this one. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated and really make my day.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry this took longer than anticipated. Been very sick for the last two weeks and I was just starting to feel normal enough to sit at my computer for a long time and write a full chapter. Hope you all enjoy it.**

**Chapter 13**

After three days of doing everything possible to hold myself back, to not rush her, to do nothing to upset her recovery, it proved a step above impossible. But I most decidedly did. Not. Care.

Not while my arms were full of Moira. The warm, solid, vertical, non-hospital-gowned weight of her.

I couldn't believe she'd thought I no longer wanted her, wanted to pretend that I wasn't ready to scream out how much I'd been wanting her. I would correct that completely mad idea if it was the last thing I did. I knew I should be careful, holding her as tight as I was. I knew she'd only just gotten out of the hospital a few days ago, that she still had her stitches in, that her side was still tender but it was hard to argue when she was holding me just as tightly, pulling me just as close.

We circled the kitchen like a couple of drunks and when her back thumped against the refrigerator and she hissed I tried to make her see reason, or at least consider a change of venue.

"Moira," I gasped in one of the few seconds we sacrificed for oxygen.

"Shut up," she panted.

"Moira. Wait," I caught her face in my hands and held her off for a moment. "Your stitches."

She growled and grabbed me by both my ears. "I am FINE. I am bloody well fine. Now shut. Up. And get BACK here."

I pulled back again and she made a frustrated noise that sounded like a muffled scream.

"I was only going to suggest…that we find somewhere…a little more…private…" I managed between frantic kisses.

"Nothing wrong with here. No one here. Private as can be. Shut. Up."

I groaned and gave him, tugging her close and she all but melted into me.

"Moira, I thought I'd give you a hand with dinner toni-OI, HANDS OFF YOU GREAT IDIOT! SHE'S STILL GOT STITCHES!"

When I would've jumped back I found myself in the vice of Moira's hold on me. She turned her head to Mary, who stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, outrage on her face.

"Mary. In two words. Two very simple words that I will apologize for later but you WILL listen to right now: BUGGER. OFF."

"Absolutely not. You are days out of the hospital. You have stitches in your side. It is too bloody soon for a snogfest in the kitchen."

"Mary! I'm fine!"

Mary gave an undignified snort before marching forward and reaching out to gently grab Moira's side. She didn't make a sound before going dead white and her knees gave way.

"Hey!" I shouted, scooping her into my arms.

"And now my point has been made. Ben, be a dear and get our girl off her bloody stubborn feet. You can continue your activities from a horizontal position and, preferably, a bit more gently," she said with a pointed glare.

"What in the world is going on in here?" came John's voice from down the hall.

"Oh, yes, please," Moira mumbled from her place in my arms. "Let's just invite the whole town into the kitchen."

"Moira? Are you all right? Did you pull your stitches? Let me see," John said as he moved toward us.

"I am fine, John. Mary was just proving a point."

"And what point was that?" he asked.

"That until my stitches come out it is against doctor's orders to engage in a proper snog while pressed up against my refrigerator."

"Oh," he said, flushing red. "I see. Um. Well. She's probably right."

"I was…just taking her upstairs. For a lie-down," I said.

John spared me the coolest of glances and a brief nod. It had been incredibly tense between myself and the doctor since the hospital. I tightened my grip on Moira and walked out of the room. She was silent until we reached her room and I settled her on the bed.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened," she asked softly.

"What do you mean?" I said, moving to the windows to let the last of the day's sun into the room.

"You and John. You've barely said two words to each other since Mycroft arrived. I know something happened but…it seemed between the two of you. Rather it seemed between John and…Sherlock and I didn't feel right asking. But it bothers you and I suppose I got used to you coming to me when something bothered you."

I sighed and sat down on the bed beside her, she sat up gently and put her hand on mine. "I do come to you when something bothers me. It…helps me. To tell you things. I didn't know how to approach this. I didn't want to bring this up now, Moira. Things were…good. Very good. Before. In the ah…in the kitchen."

She smiled. "Things were very good. And they'll be very good again, I promise you. But this is hurting you. I can see it. Everything else can wait."

I pressed my forehead to hers. "Alright. Alright. It…it's to do with Mycroft, with something he knew, something he told us."

_I'd left Moira in her hospital room and walked to the stairs to get to the conference room John's text indicated. In all seriousness I had no idea what to expect when I walked into that room. Had he told my brother about me? Was I going to be a surprise when I walked in there?_

_John had said that Mycroft knew people, people who could help keep Moira safe. If for no other reason I was doing this for her._

_Before I knew it I was standing outside the door. I tapped it softly and waited for an answer. It cracked open an inch and John's face appeared._

"_You ready?" he asked softly._

_I nodded. John stepped back and opened the door wider. This man who was my brother had his back to me, an umbrella swinging idly from his hand as he stared out the window._

"_Well, Doctor Watson? You asked for my help and you've been hedging since I walked into the room. As it happens I do have a few other things that will likely take precedence over this but out of respect for…things in the past I will make whatever resources I have available to you but I'm going to have insist on at least having some idea what my resources are going to be used for."_

"_Mycroft. There's someone you need to talk to," John said as he placed a bolstering (or restraining) hand on my shoulder._

_The man at the window turned, his expression trained into boredom. Until he got a good look at me. There was a minute widening of his eyes before his eyes fell shut and his shoulders slumped. The umbrella dropped to the floor an instant before I found myself caught up in the stranger's arms. Over his shoulder I could see John's face arranged in a comical expression of shock._

"_Thank God," came a choked whisper in my ear. "Thank God. Where have you been? Where the hell have you been?"_

"_I knew it," I heard John whisper._

"_John?" I asked, confused. The man, Mycroft, took a step back, hands on my shoulders, squeezing, the boredom was gone, replaced by a mix of frustration and, oddly enough, joy._

"_Where were you? When we lost contact with you…God, Sherlock, I feared the worst."_

"_He won't remember that, Mycroft. He doesn't even remember you." John's voice was cold. Mycroft turned to look at him._

"_What do you mean he doesn't remember me?" The man looked incredibly shaken._

"_He was injured about eight months ago, which I'm guessing is when you lost contact with him. Head injury. Amnesia. He has no idea who he was, what he did. Nothing."_

_Mycroft turned to look back at me. "My God. Is this true?"_

_At a loss for words, I nodded. Mycroft sat heavily in a chair. John's stance screamed of his military past, formal, stiff, braced for battle._

"_How long, Mycroft?" he asked. "How long did you know he was alive?"_

_A hand covered Mycroft's face. "From the beginning."_

_John's fists bunched reflexively. "So you know why he did it. Why he jumped."_

_Mycroft looked at John with pained eyes. "You have to understand, John. It was all for your protection."_

"_So he went to you. The man who sold him out to a psychopath, rather than come to me."_

"_It had nothing to do with that, John. It was your life on the line."_

"_You'd better start filling in the blanks, Mycroft. And quickly."_

_Mycroft sighed. "My brother…he suspected that Moriarty might try something. He did what he does best. He prepared for it. Got Miss Hooper involved. And his homeless network. It was a member of the network who got in touch with me and put me in contact with Miss Hooper who relayed the plan. He had to make you believe it, John. It was the only way to keep you safe. Moriarty threatened your life. Yours, Mrs. Hudson's, Inspector Lestrade's. He had snipers on all of you. Would've had you all killed on the spot if Sherlock hadn't jumped."_

"_Fine. So he jumped. Survived it. Why didn't he tell me after when it was safe?"_

"_Because it wasn't safe. Because the snipers were still at large, still prepared to remove all of you if there was even a hint that he'd survived. You cannot imagine the depth of these mens loyalty to James Moriarty. Especially the one he put on you. If he had suspected for even a moment that your grief, your pain and anger weren't 100% genuine, he would've put a bullet in your brain."_

"_If you knew these men were watching us why didn't you just remove them your way? You've done it before. Plucked Moriarty off the street, held him for no purpose before releasing him onto the world to wreak his havoc."_

"_Because these men were smart. They needed to be hunted. Hunted by someone they wouldn't see coming."_

"_Sherlock."_

"_Yes. My brother went into hiding and then went hunting. With his help we arrested two of them on legitimate charges that will have them tied up with Interpol, among others, for a century."_

"_And the third?"_

"_Sherlock was following a lead on him. But he was…restless. Angry. He felt it was time to bring you in. Ask for your forgiveness and your help. We argued. He ditched the phone and the tracer and by the time my men moved in to calm him down, stop him from doing anything stupid…he was gone. I searched for months. It was like he'd vanished and then we lost track of the third sniper. And I was sure he'd been lost."_

"_He wasn't."_

_Mycroft looked over at me, the first bit of attention either of them had paid me in the last few moments._

"_No, he wasn't. I filled in your blanks, Doctor Watson. Perhaps you'd be so kind now as to fill in mine."_

_John was staring out the window, his face turned from me but judging by the rigidity of his stance, I knew his expression would not be favorable towards me._

"_Ask him. I need some bloody air," he said before stomping for the door and slamming it behind him._

_I turned back to the man in the chair who was watching me warily._

"_You remember nothing?" he asked._

"_I'm sorry. I don't." _

"_But you're…you're well? No other injuries?"_

"_Aside from a tendency to overwork myself until Moira puts me on bed rest for a day or two…not really."_

"_Moira?"_

"_She's the one who found me. Saved me. Got me back on my feet."_

"_I should very much like to thank her before we go back to London."_

_It was like a shot to my chest. Back to London? Leave Moira?_

"_I can't go back to London."_

"_Don't be absurd, it's not safe for you here."_

"_It's been safe for the last eight months until now and I'm not the one who's hurt. I can't leave. I won't. I will not leave her."_

"_I understand you feel some responsibility towards this woman who has saved you but my priority is you. I will, of course, make sure that she is kept from harm but we need to get you into hiding again. You're going to need to see a doctor, we'll find a way to get your memories back, I promise."_

"_No!"_

"_Sherlock-"_

"_Ben! My name is Ben and that's what it is now so you'd better get used to it!" The door banged open again behind me._

"_I can hear you two from down the hall! What the bloody hell is going on?" John was back._

_I spun around and grabbed John by the shoulders. "I will not leave. I will not go to London and leave Moira here. I know you're angry with me. Him. Me. Whoever, I don't care but I will not leave her. You promised me I wouldn't have to leave."_

_John stared at me, there was anger in his eyes but it softened at my panic. He patted my shoulder firmly. "I did promise. Don't worry. You're not going anywhere."_

_He stepped away from me, putting himself between Mycroft and I. "Mycroft, I'm sorry, but he's right. You don't understand what the last eight months have been like for him. He has a life here, he has people, and he's a different person. I don't know what happened to your sniper but he's been safe here the last eight months. He has a life here and he wants to keep living it here. I know you're his brother, I knew you think you know what's best for him, but you don't know what being here has done for him. He's…happy. The happiest I've ever seen him. You can't take him away from that. Not without seeing it for yourself first and then, I promise you, you won't want to take him away from it."_

_Mycroft paced a few steps away. "What do you suggest I do, John? Just leave him here, exposed to a sniper's bullet? You as well for that matter?"_

"_No. Employ whatever protection you want. But you put it on all of us: him, me and Moira. Her safety is our priority. We're all in the same place, it should be easy for you."_

"_And I just go back to London and take your word for this."_

_The corner of John's mouth tilted up in a mocking smile. "If I learned one thing about the Holmes' brothers it's that neither of you do anything without proper evidence. No, I think you need to stay and see just what kind of a future you're ensuring for your brother. Come back with us, stay at Moira's, see what his life is like, meet her, realize that he's better off here. Think of it as a way to earn my forgiveness, for 'the past' as you put it."_

_John and Mycroft stared at each other for a long moment, a standoff that felt like it belonged in one of the American Westerns Moira loves so much. Then Mycroft nods._

"_Alright, John. I shall reserve judgment."_

"_Good. Now, it's time to leave, I spoke to Mary, Moira is alright to move so we can get her home. We can discuss what happened last night when we get there and just how we're going to go about keeping Moira safe." Mycroft nodded again._

"_I shall alert my people to the change of plan and get some preliminary surveillance in place until I have a better idea of what we're dealing with. Excuse me." He paused as he passed me. "I am…very glad that you're alright. I apologize if I upset you, I just…I thought I'd lost you forever and I will do anything to make sure that that doesn't happen again." With a final nod, he left the room._

_I turned back to John. "John, thank you, I-"_

_John held up a hand before turning to look at me. "I respect that you have no memory of what Mycroft just told us. I respect that you may never remember," he said quietly. "But the fact is I do remember. The fact is that what you did nearly destroyed me. And now I know that you went to your brother instead of me. Your brother who handed all the ammunition that that…lunatic could ever need to destroy you. If it wasn't for Mycroft none of this might've ever happened. And you went to him for help and left me in the dark. I don't care that it was for my safety, that you were doing it to protect me. I told you once before. I was a soldier. I can take care of myself better than you could ever hope to and you keep underestimating me and it cost us years when I could've been in hiding with you, hunting those men with you. And I know that the man who made those decisions wasn't you. But I don't have him to yell at right now and I have nowhere to put all of this…unbelievable fury. So you and I are going to have a hard time of it for a little while until I can figure out what to do with it all. I may snap at you, I may yell at you at some point, I'll apologize for it now and I'll try to remember to apologize then. But right now? I'm not going to pretend that what you did is ok. Alright?"_

"_I understand."_

"_Good. Now let's get the bloody hell out of this place. I've had enough for one night."_

Moira sighed from her place beside me on the bed. "Poor John…"

I linked my hands with hers. "I feel horrible. I don't understand why I feel horrible, I have no memory of making the decision, no memory of what I did that day or in the year and a half that follow, but I still feel horrible."

She rolled gently towards me and put her head on my shoulder. "I think, on some level, you remember how much he means to you. His pain causes you pain and this is pain that you, the old you, caused so it's all the worse."

"I want to make it better but I don't know how."

She wrapped an arm around him middle and she sighed again, this time I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. "You just need to give him some space," she yawned. "You'll figure it out."

"You're about to fall asleep on me, aren't you?"

I watched her eyes drift closed as she wraps an arm around my middle. "I'm sorry," she yawns again. "I think I am. Do you mind?"

I pulled her more firmly into my arms. "I will never mind." I had left out some of the details of that conversation when I had relayed her. She still didn't know the potential danger she was in and part of me desperately wanted to shake her awake and tell her everything. As she lay sleeping in my arms I realized that lying to her was just one of the many lines that I would be willing to cross to keep her safe in the coming days.

I only wish that it had done any good in the long run.

**Uh oh. Trouble is coming. And trouble is bringing a very large gun. Possibly two of them. I'm not sure how many more chapters of this story there are going to be, I've noticed it's taking me longer to get chapters out (though this week an illness and a visit to the hospital for IV fluids for dehydration can most definitely be blamed), but there will be at least four (possibly more), not including the epilogue so I'm happy about that. I hope you all enjoyed this and please continue to review.**


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